#stiles should be allowed to use his magic violently

[audhd-nightwing]

derek, kidnapped by hunters: you guys are so fucked

hunters: oh wolfy, this is a trap for your little betas. your wolves can’t save you

derek: i wasn’t talking about them :)

stiles, slamming the door open, covered in blood and furious: who the FUCK took my boyfriend

hunter: it’s one human, what’s he- *chokes and falls to the ground*

stiles, fully darth-vadering it: oh no, do go on :)

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, zjofierose!

For @zjofierose. Happy holidays! Hope you like the story!  

Read On AO3

*****

Painted Roses and Howling Wolves

Derek presses the cloth firmly on the rose painted upon his skin.

“There,” his sister Cora says with a final swipe of her brush through her cup of water. “That should disguise it well enough.”

Derek lifts the cloth, studying the stark lines of the rose. “What if someone turns up with a rose too?” he asks.

It is unlikely that someone could have this same mark considering Cora has drawn it herself, but Derek knows of a few nobles who had been taken in by manufactured marks.

Cora pats at his shoulder. “All you have to do is drip your drink on either their mark or your own to prove that it is false.” She goes on tip toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “Perhaps you should shave?” She rubs at her mouth where his beard scratched her.

Self consciously, he strokes it. Mother had finally agreed that he could grow his beard after yet another noblewoman had mistaken him for his decade-younger brother. “I’ll oil it,” he says. “Will that do?”

“It shall have to. Is there anything else you wish from me before I get ready?”

Derek inspects the rose again, half-expecting it to already be smudged or faded, but Cora is an artist in her own right even if she has to sell her paintings under Derek’s name. It’s still perfect. “No,” he concedes, and then he is alone in his room.

He crosses to the window, throws open the curtains, and stares out at the fresh snow that fell last night. Paths have already been shoveled, and Derek watches as people scurry to and fro.

He wishes he could go out riding today, but he doesn’t want to damage any of the horses by taking them into a drift too large to get out of.

Also, whenever his family hosts a ball, his mother loans out the horses to the nearby nobles.

Derek checks the rose again, a certain paranoia that it’s worn away. He can’t shake the feeling that even though there is no way it’s coming off with anything but some water and a cloth, he’ll be found out and exposed as trying to trap someone else who might have the rose.

It happens whether he hides his mark or not.

It’s probably because more nobles have marks that match or are easily mistaken for each other. Derek’s mark, a howling wolf, is the only one of its kind so far. Most of the balls since Derek was of marrying age have been trying to find his mark-mate. Of course, a lot of the balls have doubled as a status symbol for his family, but Derek can’t help but feel out of place among all the perfumed bodies wrapped in the newest of fashions.

He doesn’t enjoy the idle chattering of useless information, far preferring to discuss weighty matters unbecoming a lord of his position, son of the Baron and Baroness Hale. Some might think he wishes he were above his stature, but then, Derek knows, he’d have far more political events disguised as balls to attend.

He sighs, lamenting, and drapes himself over a chair. He has hours before the ball officially begins, and he is already dreading it.

At least his sister Cora and brother Daniel will be there. If Daniel’s betrothed isn’t present, and she may not be since her father’s lands are farther than should be risked in wintertime, then Derek won’t have to suffer the night alone.

If only he could find someone who would stay with him and chase away the rumours that follow him. Derek knows he could be happy with someone who doesn’t share his mark, but that acquiesce isn’t allowed in the nobility. Either he must find his mark-mate or suffer the whispers that he is broken and unlovable or worse, violent and dangerous, as the rumours have turned to lately.

Derek sighs. Perhaps he can convince his mother to allow him to travel to the village. Surely there is some errand that must be in want of being completed, and with all the servants busy preparing for the ball tonight, none of them should be spared.

A solid plan. Derek rolls down his sleeve and hurries to find his mother.

~ * ~

Stiles leaps back with a yell.

Scott, digging around in one of the cupboard, jerks, banging his head on his way out. “What?” he demands. “What’s wrong?”

Stiles shakes his head, throwing a towel over the bowl, hoping that breaking the connection in such a way will clear the water of any vision.

Scott eyes him oddly. “What did you do?” he asks.

“Why do you suppose I did something?” Stiles asks as innocently as he can—that is, not innocently at all. “Why must I have done something for you to accuse me?”

Scott doesn’t answer, instead pulling the towel from the bowl. He looks into the—thankfully—clear surface. He covers it again loosely and goes back to the cupboard, pulling out the coarse flour Stiles’ father had ground for them just last fortnight.

Stiles breathes a sigh of relief. How could he describe what he saw? A wedding! And not just any wedding, but his own! He’d been standing in a grand hall, facing his groom, a man whose face Stiles still doesn’t know despite looking for him nearly every day for a year.

He’d been startled when the man had spoken his given name, repeating the vows of the priest. Stiles is not Christian despite living in a Christian land. He and his father are travelers, lost after the death of Stiles’ mother and the death of his home country.

He doesn’t know if he even wants to be married by a priest. Wouldn’t that go against his religion? He and his father haven’t kept with it, too fearful of declaring their heritage too loudly. Many people do not look favorably upon those of a different faith.

So all Stiles knows is that his groom is of Christian faith. He can’t deny that he is disappointed in that fact.

Scott looks up from where he is measuring flour. He points an accusing finger at Stiles. “Were you looking at your future again?”

“What?” Stiles splutters. “No. Whatever gave you that idea?”

“You only yell like that when you discover a new fact about yourself.” He dusts his hands off, using the towel from the bowl to wipe them clean. “Aren’t you not supposed to use magic like that?”

Stiles shakes his head. “There’s no true rule. As long as I don’t expose myself without cause, there is no danger.”

“Exposure without cause,” Scott repeats. “And what, pray tell, constitutes exposure without cause?”

Stiles shrugs. “I don’t truly know,” he admits.

“Stiles!”

“What! It’s not like the magic itself came up with that inane rule.”

“No, that was the Queen.” Scott crosses himself as if speaking of that vile woman would summon her to their little house.

When she doesn’t appear to have them arrested for wanton use of magic or speaking her name, Stiles raises an eyebrow. Scott mutters to himself and gets busy again with mixing his dough. He sells the extra loaves to other peasants such as themselves.

This parcel of land is rather well off, the Baron and Baroness bequeathing much of their wealth to keep their people hale and healthy.

Perhaps they do it to make up for all the balls they throw in the Queen’s honor and their middle child, Lord Derek. He is due to be married off if the Baroness can find a suitor for the poor man.

Stiles has rarely had cause to see any of the Hales aside from the annual autumnal festival where they celebrate another splendid harvest, but he cannot get Derek from his mind. He has never been close enough to make out his features, but Derek stands well, strong and broad-shouldered. Stiles often takes a little time with himself after seeing Derek standing stiffly at his father’s side, discussing matters despite being the second son and not in line to take over ruling.

“Why are you making bread so late?” Stiles asks.

Scott sighs, put out. “The ball is tonight, and the Baron and Baroness requested a meal. However, their house is understaffed at this moment. The recent storm kept many of the servants from returning in time, and those that are there are busy with preparations, so I was asked to make a few loaves for them.”

“Makes sense,” Stiles agrees. “Want any help?”

~ * ~

Derek traipses through the fresh snow, maybe a little too enthusiastically. He likes snow better than people. It settles something in him to find a patch of undisturbed area and just study it until it feels like when he breathes in he’s a part of it.

The village surrounding his family’s home is sprawling, space between houses taken up by trodden paths and patches of suspicious water.

Derek is trying to advocate for indoor plumbing, as they are starting to have in the larger towns and cities, but people are afraid of change, especially change suggested by a man who cannot even do something as simple as find his mark-mate.

Derek scowls down at his arm, at the covered mark. If he had not been born with such a distinct mark, he’s certain he could have been married a dozen times over, whether he wanted it or not.

Instead, he is tromping all over the village, looking for the baker who is not the baker on the first street, to collect some of the loaves promised to his mother for the ball tonight.

He was supposed to take a left after the barber, but Derek had seen no barber. Just a butcher. Lost, Derek turns one way and then another. The streets have not been officially named and when he stops a gentleman for directions, he gets a grunt and a finger pointing at a building nearly three houses to his right.

Derek thanks the man, drawing close the servant’s cloak he borrowed, and marching up to the door. He knocks three times and waits.

When the baker who is not the actual baker answers the door, he frowns at him.

Derek is unused to being frowned at. Most who see him recognise him as the Baron’s son and immediately start trying to ingratiate themselves to him.

This man, with his dark eyes and reddened lips narrows his eyes at him. “State your business,” he says.

“Derek,” Derek replies, “from the Baron’s house. Here to fetch some loaves for the ball that is to commence this evening.”

“Oh.” The man steps back, allowing Derek to squeeze by. Their hands brush as the man reaches for his cloak while Derek moves to remove it himself.

Something like lightning passes between them, and he freezes, staring down at their hands. The man has already pulled away, a muttered apology falling from his lips. His voice is roughened, syllables not quite right in the sense that they aren’t as distinctly English as Derek was expecting.

The man must be a foreigner. He speaks well though, so Derek would hazard a wager that he is not a new foreigner.

“Stiles,” the man offers.

“Derek,” Derek says again.

There is a clatter from the baker’s bench.

“Derek?” the real baker squeaks.

Derek nods.

The baker bows quickly, hissing at Stiles to do the same. Derek holds up his hands. “There is no need for that,” he says, aware that he is grimacing. Were he any other noble, he would fair demand it of his people, but Derek is the second son of the Baron and wishes no part in the almost un-Godly worship the people heap upon the nobility.

“Um, the loaves are almost ready. Well, most of them.”

The baker points at the nine loaves lined up on the edge of the table. Derek pretends to inspect them. They’re bread. It’s pretty hard to mess up bread.

Derek knows his mother sent him for twelve loaves, but really, how much food are they planning on serving? Derek knows it’s almost always a full meal. He is usually the only one too nervous and unsure to eat. Nine loaves honestly is probably enough, but just in case, he had better wait for the other three.

“I have time,” he says, and the baker and Stiles exchange a look of dismay. It stings in the same way the whispers that float around Derek do, and self-consciously, he rubs at his mark. “I can wait outside?” he offers. It’s freezing, but Derek would rather spend his time marching around the streets than here where his presence is wholly unwanted.

“No, no,” the baker hurries to assure him, but Stiles interrupts with a quiet, firm, “Scott.”

Derek inclines his head, wraps his cloak a little more firmly around himself and bids both men a good day. He’ll return when the sun drops lower than the rooftops. That should be plenty of time for the remaining loaves to be baked and cooled enough to carry.

Then, he takes his leave.

The door barely shuts before Stiles and Scott burst into conversation, and Derek feels the same tug of pain on his heart.

His family are the only ones who tolerate him.

Perhaps the rumours are right and Derek is unlovable.

He shudders in the wind and then starts walking, keeping the street to his right so that he can find his way back.

~ * ~

“Why did you kick him out?” Scott demands as soon as the door closes. Stiles violently hushes him, certain that Derek is still listening at the door.

“Did you not see his clothing under his cloak?” Stiles snaps. “He is a noble. Why did you not tell me the nobles here gathered their own stock?”

“How was I to know?” Scott retorts. “Normally they send their servants. I guess Hale Manor is short-staffed now.”

“It is nearly Christmas,” Stiles agrees. He knows very little of how the Christians actually celebrate their designated birth of Christ, but he does enjoy some of the traditions like traveling home to see family or having feasts, if able.

He and Scott always go out to his father’s home and help with harvesting ice for summer. Then they sit around the stove and drink spiced cider.

“Besides,” Scott continues, “Derek isn’t a noble you have to worry about.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s different. You saw how uncomfortable he got when I recognised him, right?” Stiles nods. “Well, that’s just how he is. It’s just accepted as fact that the Royals were appointed by God, but Derek questions that divine right. He would much rather be elsewhere than at Hale Manor, but even a lord with very little chance to ascend to the throne, he’s expected to perform the same duties as his elder brother and father.”

“And what else of him?”Stiles asks, thinking of the spark that ignited when their hands brushed. He wonders what it means and why Derek’s countenance is markedly familiar even though Stiles is positive he has never seen him this close before today.

“These balls the Hales throw every month? They’re to find Derek a suitor.”

“He is unmatched?” Stiles finds that difficult. Many nobility, even lower ranking ones like Baron Hale, have their children betrothed before they are even out of swaddling. Of course, they don’t marry until each child has grown, but he still finds it surprising to hear that Derek is unattached.

Scott shrugs. He checks on the three loves still baking and decides they are done. He pulls them and sets them on his table to cool. “Most nobles find the match to their marks easily. Derek apparently has the mark of violence upon him, and none of the other nobles wish to marry into that.”

Stiles purses his lips, wondering at that. He thinks of his own mark, a faint outline of a howling wolf. He knows that wolves have been driven from this land long ago, considered far too dangerous to be around people and livestock. He keeps his mark hidden because he does not wish to have the same reputation of a wolf. Perhaps Derek has the same predicament?

There is a gentle rap upon the door, and Scott hurries to open it.

Standing on the step is Derek. Despite his thick cloak, he is shivering quite obviously, and Stiles feels a pit in his stomach open. Without ever having met Derek, he likely treated him exactly as the other nobles around Derek did.

He waits for Scott to invite Derek in, and even then, Derek just collects the loaves, leaves a bit of coin on the table for the food, and turns to go.

“Wait,” Stiles calls.

Derek pauses, looking back over his shoulder with a puzzled expression.

“Have you anyone to go to the ball with?”

“No,” Derek says. “If I had, I do not think there would be a ball.” He looks contemplative before turning back and setting the loaves down. “If you would go with me, I would make it worth your while.”

“And how is that?” Stiles asks. He cuts a glance to the coins. There is enough there for Scott to buy more provisions so that he can make more bread.

Derek follows his eyes. “I have a bit of coin that you may have if you accompany me for this one evening.” Derek rubs at his arm where, presumably, his mark is. Stiles’ fingers twitch, wishing to follow the action. Derek looks resigned when he says, “I only wish for one evening of pleasantness. You may be expected to dance, but please do not leave my side.”

Stiles agrees readily, despite the fact that he has no truly nice clothing and will surely be as out of place as a spring bloom in the dead of winter.

Derek smiles then, and Stiles feels taken. His heart beats wildly to be the recipient of that smile. “Come with me now and I shall find you something to wear,” Derek says, as if he knows Stiles’ very thoughts.

“Can you spare me, Scott?” Stiles asks. Scott doesn’t hesitate, grabbing the loaves and all but throwing them into Derek’s arms and shoving both of them towards the door.

“Have a wonderful time at the ball,” he says, shutting the door behind them.

Stiles barely had time to grab his cloak, and he wraps it tightly around himself. Derek smiles again, small and private.

“Thank you, Stiles. I do appreciate you so for taking time to do this.”

“You are paying me,” Stiles says, but he keeps his voice low, aware that neither he nor Derek need further damage to their reputations. He clears his throat, falling in step with Derek as they make their way through the slush on the streets. “Will your parents be angry at you for brining a male suitor to the ball?”

“They should be so happy that I will have someone that I think they shan’t bother you about what is beneath your trousers. Besides, they have been expecting that perhaps I would settle with a man instead of a woman.”

Stiles chokes on a breath. “Have you been with a man before?” Stiles himself has not, but he finds that he is not opposed to the idea. He only wishes that if he and Derek do end up spending the night engaged in an altogether private dance that he was not being paid for his adventures tonight. It sours the thought considerably.

Derek shrugs. “No,” he admits quietly. “But, when I imagine something like that, I rarely see myself with a woman.”

Stiles blushes. He has dreamed sometimes of his spouse, and as Derek said, it is almost never a woman. Stiles was seeking answers and that is why he has been performing his future-spying spells.

He cuts a quick glance to Derek, wondering his thoughts on magic use. There are people that claim any who use magic are evil, destined to destroy and damage, much as the wolves driven from the land were reputed. In Stiles’ homeland, magic was celebrated, thought of as an extension of one’s self. Here, he is as likely to be put to death for looking in a bowl of water as he is for burning down a Church.

Christians are confusing.

Derek adjusts his hold on the loaves, and extends a hand to Stiles. “I feel you have something very important to tell me,” he says, and Stiles wonders again if Derek has a secret line to his thoughts. “I shall not push you, and whatever you reveal to me will be kept with utmost confidence.”

Stiles lets Derek take his hand, feeling that same spark from earlier. Unbidden, the words rise up in his throat, and it takes great effort to force them back down. He will tell Derek about the magic, maybe, when they are not surrounded by people who may take Stiles’ words badly.

For now, though, he takes the comfort offered by Derek, and follows him to Hale Manor.

~ * ~

Derek drops the loaves in the kitchen and then drags Stiles up to his room where he digs through his wardrobe until he finds a waistcoat, trousers in the same colour, and a shirt that looks as if it will fit Stiles.

Derek brings in Boyd, a fantastic tailor, who makes Derek’s ill-fitting clothing look wonderful on Stiles’ lean and lanky body. There is breadth to those shoulders and the colour of the coat and trousers bring out the flecks of gold in Stiles’ eyes.

Derek averts his eyes when Stiles’ mark is revealed, wishing to offer him the same privacy Derek himself has rarely had with his own mark.

Boyd makes a surprised noise but the covers it with a cough, explaining that he swallowed wrong.

When Boyd is done, Stiles looks amazing. And it is time for Derek to also get ready. The ball shall begin in an hour, and he hasn’t even washed away his traipsing through the snow yet. He helps Stiles disrobe, averting his eyes once again so that he won’t accidentally look at stiles’ mark despite his curiosity. He knows it must be something as bad as his own if Boyd broke composure, and he doesn’t want Stiles to feel uncomfortable here. He is his guest even if Derek is giving him money to attend.

It is worth it to Derek to not have to spend the evening alone, subjected to the rumours excitedly passed about when he moves from one cluster of guests to another.

He reminds Stiles that they are not to be separated when they return from the bathing room and get dressed again. Derek chooses a waistcoat in green, to bring out his eyes, as Cora is so fond of saying. He pairs it with dark trousers and a white shirt. Stiles remains dashing, and Derek ties Stiles’ tie, aware that what is usually perfunctory at best when performed by a servant is made doubly intimate by the fact that whenever he gets too close to Stiles’ skin, there’s a crackle of electricity that makes him think of static shocks, when two things with too much charge interact.

He finds that, aside from the fact that the shocks are getting a little more painful with each discharge, he doesn’t mind it.

Stiles, on the other hand, seems more and more uncomfortable. By the time Derek is done, he is shaking.

“Are you all right?” Derek pours a glass of water for Stiles. He accepts it, sinking onto a chair to sip at it.

“No,” he finally says when the glass is half empty. He looks absolutely miserable. “Derek, I am magic.”

Magic? Derek presses on his mark. Isn’t everyone a little magic? He knows some people are afraid of what they don’t know, and magic falls into that category.

“And?” he prompts, certain that there must be more.

“And that’s it,” Stiles says, spreading his hands. He’s holding something else back, but Derek isn’t in the habit of forcing people to divulge secrets. He knows what it’s like to hide things.

“Well. It’s almost time that we go down to the ballroom. Do you feel well enough to accompany me?”

Stiles nods tightly. Derek sets aside the glass and offers his arm. Stiles accepts with a smile.

It isn’t until they’re already in the ballroom, glasses of punch in hand as Derek takes Stiles around the room, introducing him to his brothers and sisters that he realises he never told his parents that he was bringing someone. He hopes there aren’t many suitors to turn down.

“Derek,” his mother says disapprovingly when they stop to pay their respects to the Baron and Baroness.

“This is Stiles,” Derek says, in an undertone, aware that there are people staring at Stiles, trying to place him in their noble world. “He agreed to accompany me tonight.”

Mother hides her puzzlement well, accepting Stiles’ bow as proper greeting. She gives Derek a look that tells him he will have to explain later, but she allows them to continue circulating. Stiles appears overwhelmed and nervous, so Derek takes him to a corner and settles him next to Cora and Isadora, his other younger sister, who are discussing the best methods of shipping paintings throughout Europe.

His sisters immediately draw Stiles into the discussion especially when Isadora recognizes Stiles’ accent as coming from an area of Europe currently under mass migration, although, judging from Stiles’ mastery of their language, he has spent the past several years here.

Derek is content to stand over them, fetching drinks and a few bites to eat as required, but almost as soon as he steps away, his mother draws him towards the center of the floor to meet with a few suitors. Obediently, Derek draws up his sleeves and shows off the rose Cora painted so many hours ago.

His mother becomes enraged although she hides it well, while none of the suitors have a match to either Derek’s false or true mark.

The evening wears on thusly.

~ * ~

Stiles looks up when a young man joins them. He was expecting Derek to return with a drink, as Stiles’ first glass is long empty, but Derek appears to be busy with his mother.

The life of a noble.

“I’m Daniel,” the man says, shoving his hand in Stiles’ space for a quick shake.

“Stiles,” Stiles returns. He is perhaps shorter than he means to be, but Daniel looks delighted.

“So you are who Derek dragged here. There’s rumours that you are a noble from another country.”

“I’m afraid not.” Stiles smiles.“Just a simple peasant who immigrated a number of years ago.”

“Stiles was telling us of his life in Galicia.”

“Isn’t there some unrest there?” Daniel’s brow creases. It reminds Stiles of Derek, and he glances about the room, but he cannot see the man anywhere.

“There is,” Stiles confirms. If they talk much longer on this topic, the Hales will discover that he is not Christian, and Stiles hasn’t known any of them long enough to ascertain whether he will be safe if that information is divulged.

Their conversation doesn’t get a chance to resume because somewhat loudly, a lord and lady at the table next to them make exclamations of disgust.

“I don’t see why we keep trying,” the lady says, harshly. “They know that something is wrong with that boy.”

“Why they seem to think we don’t know it is beyond me,” the lord agrees.

Curious, Stiles leans a little closer, wondering who they are disparaging.

He gets an answer soon enough when he sees Derek walking towards them stiffly, holding Stiles’ drink in his tightly clenched fist while his mother and another lady, closer in age to Derek than his mother, walk with him.

“If you would just allow your mark to be seen,” Derek’s mother says, not softly enough to remain unheard.

“A mark like Derek’s can only mean violence,” the younger lady says, not quite as quietly. The Baroness shoots her an angry glare. The lady seems unaffected, continuing, “Just because wolves were driven out of England a few hundred years ago, it does not mean that we don’t remember their destruction and havoc. We only have to listen to stories from other countries to remember just how vicious wolves really are.”

Derek reaches them, hands Stiles the drink, which Stiles immediately sets down, and turns on his heel. His face is red, mouth in a thin line. He appears close to tears, but Stiles isn’t sure why he thinks that. No one else, aside from Derek’s family, appears bothered by the swelling of voices clamouring around Derek as he makes his way to the grand staircase.

Without quite meaning to, Stiles finds himself on his feet, throwing wide his arms and drawing on the magic he can feel running through his body. He uses it to throw his voice, amplifying it until it drowns out the noisy crowd.

“How dare you!” he shouts. “How dare you claim that someone is violent and dangerous when you know nothing of them?” He rolls up his sleeves, showing off his own howling wolf. “I know danger; I’ve seen men do dastardly things. You hate your Baron’s son because he bears this mark?” Stiles slaps his arm and his wolf leaps from his skin, settling down onto its haunches in front of Stiles. The wolf is nothing more than an apparition, barely tangible enough to see. Still, people recoil at the sight of it.

On the steps, Stiles sees Derek pause. He turns slowly, staring at the wolf. Consciously or not, he rolls up his own sleeve. Stiles is most disappointed to see that Derek has a rose, not a wolf, on his arm. Then Cora pushes past him, the discarded drink in hand. She uses a handkerchief procured from somewhere, dips it in the drink, and scrubs harshly at Derek’s rose.

The ink wipes away, leaving the image of a howling wolf there.

Derek touches it and then jerks back when a wolf bursts forth from his arm. Derek’s wolf doesn’t sit at his feet. No, it marches right up to Stiles’ wolf, touches noses and then settles there, both of them just waiting.

And still the nobles sit silent.

Derek moves to Stiles’ side, laying his arm atop Stiles’ so that their marks are pressed together. The wolves touch noses again and fade away to nothing.

“How wonderful!” Derek’s mother exclaims. “You have finally found your match.” She takes them both by the arm and leads them to the grand staircase. “I wish to announce the engagement of my son Derek, son of James, Baron of Beaconshire and his betrothed, Stiles of Beaconshire.”

The Hale children break into loud cheers and clapping, and grudgingly the nobles join in. Neither the lady nor lord who had spoken so disparagingly of Derek do anything.

The Baroness leans close to Stiles. “I would thank you not to do magic among our company again. I can convince everyone that it was simply part of the mark-mating, but I cannot protect you if word gets out that there is a sorcerer in our midst.”

Stiles is lucky, he knows, that the Baroness is ready to fight for him already when she doesn’t know him and was displeased with Derek bringing him in the first place. He can understand and respect her wishes to not perform more magic.

He won’t stop, of course. He’s spent much of his life learning what he has. He won’t put it away, and he hopes that bearing the same mark as Derek means that Derek will understand that magic is literally in Stiles’ blood.

They cannot be together if it turns out that Derek agrees with the persecution of magic users.

Derek takes Stiles’ hand, twines their fingers together. “Would you dance with me?” he asks softly. In the request, Stiles hears just how upset Derek still is but also how soothed he is to have found his mark-mate. Stiles looks around the room, at the unfamiliar faces all staring woodenly back at him. He would rather not, but he also does not want to reject Derek so quickly.

Perhaps one dance won’t be so difficult.

In answer, Stiles tightens his grip on Derek’s hand and leads him down the stairs and onto the cleared area. “You should know,” he whispers as they take their positions, “I am neither known for my grace nor my prowess in dancing.”

“That is quite all right,” Derek returns easily. “I am known as a brute despite the fact that I have never once lost my temper.”

Stiles smiles.

~ * ~

One dance turns into many, and by the time dinner is called, Derek is thoroughly enamored with Stiles. Not that he wasn’t before, but there is something genuine now when before Stiles was hiding a part of himself.

Derek would guess that it was the magic, but he also suspects that Stiles may not share the same faith as most of England.

He is proven correct when Stiles questions the food, and based on Derek’s answers, only eats the bread that his friend made.

Once done with that, and because Derek has disregarded his parents’ attempt at finding him a suitor, the ball drags. Neither Stiles nor Derek is much in the mood for dancing anymore, too busy conversing on the finer points of suppression of peoples. Derek thinks war is brewing, and Stiles knows it, from the way he speaks.

“I will still pay you,” Derek says at the end of the night when he and Stiles are in a carriage being ferried to the village. Daniel and Cora both begged to accompany them as chaperones, and Mother granted it.

He has the bag of coins Stiles more than earned sitting in his lap. Stiles has barely glanced at it all night, flushing whenever his eyes fall to Derek’s lap.

“I shouldn’t,” he says demurely.

They dance around it for another few minutes before Daniel, always impatient, bursts out, “For land’s sakes, Stiles, just take the damn thing. Call it a dowry for becoming a part of the family.”

Stiles blushes harder but he doesn’t give the coins back when Derek hands them to him.

“It doesn’t make you any less,” Derek says quietly. “If anything, it’s more. It’s an apology for how things turned out.”

“I haven’t minded,” Stiles says. “But are you certain you wish to still pay me?”

“I am. After all, what kind of a husband would I be if I did not give you a purse to do with as you please?”

He smiles, to take the bite of the words out. Stiles nods solemnly.

“And am I to be just a husband, or will I continue as I have?”

Stiles is an apprentice at the apothecary. It is the perfect cover for his magic, Derek thinks. If Mother hadn’t declared the wolves to have been a part of exposure of the mark-mate, Derek thinks Stiles could have hid behind the potions of the apothecary.

“You shall do whatever it is you desire,” Derek says. “And if you need more money to do it, let me know and I will procure it for you.”

They reach the door of Stiles’ friend and before Stiles steps out of the carriage, Derek gently lays his hands upon his face, tilting it ever so slightly until he can slot their mouths together.

The same electricity from their first touch sparks over his lips, and when he pulls back, he feels as though they are swollen and reddened, announcing to all that he has just kissed his mark-mate.

Stiles looks at him, fondness softening his face. “Good night, my lord,” he says and slips from the carriage.

Derek looks to his brother and sister, who are both busy pretending to have a conversation, but Cora is talking of a painting and Daniel is speaking of the holly bushes that will need to be trimmed in a few days.

Derek settles back in his seat with a smile. He strokes a finger down his arm, tracing the lines of his mark. From outside the carriage, they hear Stiles slam into the door of his friend’s bakery, a bitten off curse following.

Then Derek’s own mark tingles, the feelings of fingers tracing his mark though he stopped when they heard Stiles.

He smiles to himself, glad for the connection. It makes him happy that Stiles has accepted his mark. It makes it easier to accept his own.

And later, they discover just how sensitive and strong their bond is each with their hands on their marks and a different, matching appendage.

~ End ~

[spac3bar7end3r]

Grow as We Go (Together)

Sterek / Stiles left / Derek followed later / Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings / they live together but not like roommate-they were roommate kind of story / 2396 words

prompt: “I’m with you, you know that.”

read on Ao3

Living with Derek is not how Stiles thought it would be. Well, Derek changed. Stiles also changed. That part is pretty obvious. Don’t get him wrong, change is not a bad thing and it’s been five years since they saw each other. It’d be weird if things don’t change. Plus, Derek is a good roommate. He even waters Stiles’ plants every day (and Stiles has a lot of plants).

 The thing is… the thing is, Derek seems a bit distant, and Stiles doesn’t mean physically because his apartment is narrow as hell. Their body parts always touch one way or another because of how cramped it is.  Derek often stares blankly at the television, staring distantly at the thing that’s not there. Sometimes the tv is not even turned on.

One thing that does not change is Derek’s cooking. Derek can cook. Stiles knows that since that summer break in high school that he got stuck with Derek after Scott got a girlfriend. Derek cooked for his pack and Stiles, and it was fantastic. Stiles always prepared food for his dad since young but it still could not compare to Derek’s cooking at all.

Stiles likes Derek’s cooking. He likes Derek’s grumpy face. He likes it when Derek sighed heavily as if Stiles was annoying but he still came to Stiles every time he had trouble, when he was sad or when he was lonely. Stiles misses that. Stiles misses them. He did not feel like getting mad at Derek for not appearing in front of him sooner. Stiles himself wasn’t stable enough for many years after things had gone to shit at Beacon Hills…after his dad passed, so Stiles didn’t have the heart to get mad at Derek for not strong enough to come to him on time.

 And what does ‘on time’ mean anyway?

 Stiles knew things are changing after Derek died and got back to life, but one thing that he doesn’t want it to change is Derek’s humanity. Stiles doesn’t want Derek to think that he is broken. He is not. So what if his heart is not beating anymore? Stiles’ heart can do both of their works. It beats too much and too fast for one person anyway (Don’t talk science facts with him though—it’s just meant to be rhetorical).

 So…Operation: Getting Derek’s Life Back Together So They Can Be Together.

 6 AM

Stiles wakes up at six per usual. He walks down to the living room where Derek currently is. The guy is staring blankly at the tv screen again. It is turned on this time though, blasting morning news and weather forecast. Stiles doesn’t pay attention, the person on tv all wear suits and put gel in their hair.

“They said it would be colder than usual.” Derek nods to the screen. Oh, so he was paying attention after all.

“Yeah?” Stiles flops down to the couch next to Derek. “Are you cold?” Stiles nudge Derek’s shoulder with his, it doesn’t radiating heat like it used to.

“Not really. I don’t feel anything anymore.” Derek shrugs. “Because I’m—”

“Because you’re a sourwolf, like always. What’s for breakfast today? Or is it my turn to cook?” If he was going to say he’s broken or he’s dead then Stiles is going to cut him off again like these past few days. Stiles asks and pretends to stretch himself as if he’s going to get up from the couch and cook, but actually he’s comfortable leaning on Derek and thinking maybe he should take a nap here.

“You know It’s always my turn to cook. I like to do it.”

“See? You ‘like’ to do it. You still feel something, don’t you?”

“…” Derek doesn’t say anything and Stiles thinks that he’s either contemplating if he feels something, or he’s just annoyed with Stiles (like usual—which is a good sign!).

 7 AM

           They’ve been sitting on the couch for almost an hour. Well, in Stiles’ case he’s actually spreading on the tiny couch and almost lie on Derek who is just sitting there and says nothing.

           “How do you feel about bacon pancake?”

           “Wow, Derek. What do you mean how do I feel? If you don’t know my answer then I’m gonna drool on you.” Stiles talks back while his eyes still stare at the screen. Stiles opened Netflix and chose Ghibli because he knows Derek loved Ghibli. They always watched them together when Derek couldn’t sleep alone at the loft in Beacon Hills.

           “Good.” Derek pats on Stiles' head before pushing Stiles away a little so he can get up and cook. He almost asks Derek to come back but the promise of bacon pancake stops him.

 Stiles is not sure if there was a smile on Derek’s face or it was just his wishful thinking.

 9 AM

           The breakfast was divine, obviously. Derek is awesome. Now they are watching the Ghibli film again but this time Derek sits on the floor and Stiles is lying on the couch, his hand lightly combing through Derek’s soft hair.

Derek is leaning back. He looks so comfortable that Stiles thinks he’s sleeping so he stops but then Derek opens his eyes and nudges Stiles’ hand with his head, so Stiles continues.

 Both of them fall asleep.

 12 PM

           Derek got up to cook. Stiles gets up to find his phone and texts some funny meme to his friends then comes back to the couch in the living room. He’s browsing something on Netflix again and settle on a popular sitcom. Since it’s a weekend he doesn’t plan to do anything at all and allows himself to be lazy.

           Derek comes back with two burgers. Stiles doesn’t even know how he did it. He made it from scratch! Derek could be a food blogger or something. Stiles decides to keep the suggestion in his mind to see if Derek will be interested in doing it in the future.

           “Not to be dramatic, but I almost cry.”

Derek smirks. It was not the same smirk Stiles always saw but it’s there.

 3 PM

           “I used to come here with Laura,” Derek speaks up when they’re walking in Central Park. Stiles decided to ask Derek if he wanted Derek to take a walk and he said yes, so they came out. Derek also made hot cocoa in a thermos tumbler. He’s the best.

They walk around talking about nothing, and Stiles swears he can almost see Derek cracking a smile during the walk.

 6 PM

           Stiles brings Derek to the bookstore and they start to talk about books. Stiles pulls one book from the shelf, turning to Derek, “This book is the first book my dad bought me because he wanted me to stop running around too much and I’ve been obsessed with books ever since.”

           “This book is Laura’s favorite because it’s so corny that she laughs every time she read it. She said she hated it, but I know the truth.” Derek offers one of his past as well.

           “She and I would be good friends then,” Stiles says.

           “Yeah, you guys definitely will.” Derek looks down at his shoes before walking to the other shelf.

 7 PM

           Things change abruptly when Stiles bumps into someone after they went outside from the bookstore and walked around the block and that person is a freaking werewolf. Aaand Of course, Stiles’ luck is never great because said werewolf is so offended by Stiles knocking him or maybe because he can feel Derek’s wolf’s intimidating presence.

           “Go away.” Derek whispers.

           “Like hell I would, you omega.” The other werewolf spits at Derek. Stiles is pretty sure if Derek was his own self, he would probably beat up the guy now.

           “I’m not an omega.”

           “So you’re what? I didn’t smell pack on you, and this weak human is obviously not pack.”

           “I am.” Stiles walks up. He doesn’t think throwing a fight in the middle of a street would be a good idea.

           “I am his pack. Go away.” Stiles waves his hand and before he knows it, the werewolf pulls his wrist violently. Stiles’ body is pulled toward the guy and Stiles can hear Derek’s growl.

           “Go. Away.” Derek repeats what Stiles said but his mouth is full of fangs, eyes glowing blue.

           “Wow, dude. You’re also a killer. You can’t even keep your cool going mad like this. Are you sure you have a pack? This human is—”

Derek is already pouncing on him before the guy can say anything.

           “Der, stop. This guy doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Don’t get mad at—Wait, what?”

Derek gets mad.

Derek is getting mad.

Derek can definitely feel something.

           “Derek, are you…angry?”

           Derek stops. He throws the other werewolf on the ground and walks away from Stiles.

           Stiles looks through his bag before he grabs the tiny jar hidden in a small pocket inside. He opens the cork lid with his mouth then throws the magic powder, that he made a while back as a protection against dangerous supernatural creatures he occasionally bumps into, to the werewolf.

He bares his human teeth, saying “Don’t come to me or my pack again.”

           The werewolf cries because the powder burns his skin, and Stiles just walks away.

 It’s good that New Yorkers are so used to weird shits happening that they just walk past them.

  9 PM

Thank god (or whoever up there) that he went straight home.

Derek walked away from Stiles, but at least he came back home.

 He’s hiding though.

 Derek is hiding in the closet, and Stiles has to respect him for it a little bit because that closet is cramped as fuck. It was already here when Stiles moved in and he doesn’t want to know how smelly it is for a werewolf.

           “Come on, Sourwolf. I know it must smell bad in there. Sometimes I even throw my unwashed hoodie in there.” Stiles widens the door and looks at Derek who tries really hard to make himself look small on the ground.

“I like it here. It smells like you.”

           “Like sweat and anxiety?”

           “Like home.”

Stiles scratches his head. He sits down on the floor, looking in the hazel eyes. “That’s sweet, but dude, we need to talk.”

Derek looks like a dear in a headlight. “No.”

           “Der.”

           “No.”

           “You’re not as lifeless as you pretend to be, aren’t you?”

           “No!”

           “You know I’m not gonna hate you if you say yes to anything I ask, right? And why would you even think that anyway?”

           Derek looks up. His face shows hopefulness (a liiittle bit, but Stiles counts that as a win).

           “What if I’m starting to feel something again and you kick me out?”

           “Are you kidding? I would be so so happy if you feel something again. We could be happy together! I can make you laugh and you can get so annoyed with me again!”

Derek sits straighter.

“C’mon, Wolfman, tell me what’s happening. I’m with you.”

Derek perks up at the last sentence. He slowly looks Stiles in the eyes.

“…Last week when you made a joke about ducks when we went to that Chinese restaurant at the corner, I started to feel something. My heart still doesn’t beat, but I feel like smiling when you smile or laughing when you tell your stupid jokes.”

Stiles raises both of his eyebrows, head tilting.

“Dude, that’s not fair! You mean you find my jokes hilarious and you pretended that it didn’t make you laugh. For days.”

“Well, I—"

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you like me like this because I wasn’t as grumpy or as angry as before. I’m more…manageable?”

“You what? Like hell I like you like this, Derek. I don’t want to manage you. You are not a plant or a..what, flipping Neopets or something.”

“I think I—"

“Dude, let me tell you, I like you being grumpy, I like you being an—wait let me tone it down, I like you being confident with yourself and not afraid to show it. What I don’t like is you thinking that you’re broken or you are something less just because you what, have no heartbeats? I like everything that makes you you. I always like you, no matter what or where or when. Like, I like you when you have blue eyes, red eyes or hazel eyes. Are these hazel eyes? They said your eyes were green in your license.” Stiles thinks he knows what he’s talking about but then he’s starting to ramble and he can’t stop.

Derek laughs and it was a fucking good sound. It is the best sound Stiles ever heard Derek made in weeks. Stiles almost cries (or maybe he’s pretty sensitive right now because of his pretty long-ass heartfelt speech earlier. He’s pretty sure that counts as a love confession).

Derek finally stands up, and he has to lower his head down because he’s in a small closet. Stiles holds Derek’s wrist and leads him to the center of the room.

 “I’m with you, you know that.”

           “No, I didn’t before.” Derek shakes his head, smiling bitterly to the ground. Stiles walks closer to Derek. At first it was just his right hand, slowly touching Derek’s chest. This is where it’s supposed to move, to beat, to show a sign that the organ beneath the skin is doing something, but Derek’s heart is not beating anymore. Stiles retracts his hand then he moves his face close to Derek’s chest. His lips lightly touch the skin where his hand was earlier.

           “I always thought you were on Scott’s or someone else’s side. I’m scared that you won’t want anything to do with me.” Derek murmurs. He leans on Stiles’ head and sighs.

           “Dude, I so want it. And well, I mean, I like Scott and all but we’ve gone our separate ways now. Plus, I’m pretty sure we’ve got our own side.”

           “Have we?” Derek asked

           “Yes, you, me, and my plants.”

           “We include the plants too?”

           “Why not? They are my babies.” Stiles challenges Derek. Derek smiles and just says, “Alright.” And Stiles just grins stupidly back at him. They’ve got this.

 “So can I kiss you now?”

“I don’t know. Can you?” Derek raised his eyebrows.

And yes, Stiles totally can. 

[edelwoodsouls]

all roads lead - ch. 5

When his mother dies, Stiles runs away, straight into danger - only to be saved by Peter Hale. Seven years later, after burying their alpha, Stiles and Malia return home.

Word Count: 3,292 | Also on Ao3 | Other Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4,

Chapter 5: SUNSHINE

The smell of cooking meat and spices fills the air soon after John shows them their room. It's relatively large, painted in cool tones of blue. A double bed, a desk and wardrobe. Large windows overlooking the back garden, which backs onto the preserve.

The window is noticeably easily to climb out of, the wrap-around porch and flower lattices a perfect ladder to the ground. Very useful for a werewolf, he thinks.

Malia splays herself out on the bed, testing its comfort. "It's no New York," she says seriously, as she bounces up and down, before burrowing into the covers. "But it'll do."

She's still sulking at the thought of going to school again. Peter had given up trying to make her school when she'd returned from Eichen House, homeschooling her instead, and allowing her to forgo any subject she decided she hated - math and history, mainly.

"You don't have to pass or anything," he'd reminded her. "I've got enough magic to handle cheating a few pop quizes. And maybe we can get in a study group, meet real teenagers. Get someone cute as a personal tutor, I'm sure you'll be a straight A student in months."

"I am a physical learner," she'd nodded sagely; he'd thrown a cushion at her.

Now he curls up into her arms beneath the covers. The duvet is thick but not too heavy, and the furnace they create almost chases away the cold in his fingers.

"Do you think your dad took that all a bit too easily?" Malia says softly, words muffled by his hair.

"Definitely," he admits. He's been steadfastly ignoring this fact until now. "Beacon Hills is a weird town, though. I'm sure he's seen all sorts of fucked up shit."

"He definitely knows about werewolves."

Stiles grimaces. "Yeah, probably. It's a bit hard to miss. Especially with a bitten wolf under the same roof."

"It's probably for the best."

"You think?" He shifts to look up at her dark brown eyes, unusually heavy with storm clouds.

"Now if he finds out, he's less likely to have a heart attack and die on the spot."

Stiles snorts. "I guess. He's already had a big enough shock with me coming back from the dead. The glowing eyes and fangs might be a bit too much to handle."

Under these warm covers, with Malia beside him, Stiles practically feels the shackles melt from his ankles. It truly is safe here, a perfect microcosm of everything he needs. He could never move from this place, with the steady rhythm of Malia's breathing to lull him to sleep, and die happy.

"Stiles," Malia says. There's something in her voice- not sharp, exactly. Not angry, it's too soft for that. Disappointed? He looks up to her again.

Her fingers rest lightly against his arm. Harsh black veins crawl up her skin, reaching high, disappearing beneath her sleeves. A grimace twists her lips.

Stiles goes suddenly cold. He reaches back along the bond, wrenches the pain she's stealing back into himself. He feels it hit him all at once, the breath vanishing from his chest for an instant.

But it is his pain, and it settles quickly back into his bones where it always sits. Where it has lived so long he has all but forgotten it exists there.

"Don't do that," he says sharply.

"I don't like seeing you suffer," Malia's eyes are fierce in that way he usually loves, that says she won't back down. "Especially not alone. Stiles, you're always in pain. You think you hide it well, but I see it. You haven't had a moment of rest since the nogitsune left, and if I can shoulder the burden long enough for you to sleep through a whole night, I'm going to do it."

"It's my burden to bear." My punishment. He may not have the scars to match, but the constant dull ache the nogitsune left behind feels right, feels good. This unnatural body, one that looks like his, but has never actually seen his childhood home, never hugged his mother, should not be comfortable.

"I'm your beta," Malia hisses, suddenly furious. Now she's angry. "You spent all that time bearing burdens Peter never even knew you carried for him, but you won't let me do the same? One rule for you, one for everyone else?"

Yes, he wants to say, because Peter never deserved the tragedy that piled upon his life, but Stiles does. And because he is not Peter. He loved Peter, but the man was never exactly a model alpha. His temper was too short, too violent. Sometimes too controlling. All easily explained away by his trauma, but not excused by it.

Malia deserves a better alpha. Better than Peter, better than Stiles, too- but he's the only one up for the job right now, and he'll do everything he can to live up to the role. He will not let her suffer on his behalf, though he knows she would throw herself on the pyre for him in an instant.

He wants to say all of this, but before he can form the words to make her understand, the front door opens with a loud thud, accompanied by a sudden maelstrom of footsteps and voices.

Stiles flinches, feeling Malia freeze beside him as they strain to listen.

Two new voices. Male. Excited, arguing playfully back and forth. Scott and Isaac.

Both unmistakeably werewolves.

"Showtime," Stiles mutters, as the voices go quiet, most likely sniffing out the two new, definitively human scents twined a floor above them. They listen as John comes out of the kitchen to explain the situation. What could he possibly say to make sense of it?

"We've got this," Malia murmurs, though her fingers are gripping his arm tightly now. "Should we look busy?"

"We already do," Stiles snickers, earning a sharp whack to the back of his head.

Steps thunder up the stairs, rocketing across the landing, almost falling over themselves. They come to a skidding halt just outside the door, as if remembering only at the last second that barging into a room is impolite.

A knock against the door, so tentative, as if scared any harder could break through the wood.

"Come in?" Stiles says, reluctantly extricating himself from the cocoon of Malia and bedding.

Whilst the years have not been kind to Stiles, or his father, Scott McCall wears his age like a mantel. Thick muscles wrap a straight-standing frame, unbent by pressure and trauma. His eyes are bright, his smile easy and so genuinely curious it seems to strike Stiles like lightning.

There are many differences, from the thick black bands tattooed on his arm, the scar on his cheek, to the overwhelming scent of power that curls off him in waves. But his jaw is still as crooked as ever, his expression like a cloudless, sunny sky.

That the world has not managed to break Scott McCall is a miracle Stiles is suddenly, desperately grateful for.

"Stiles!" Scott's voice is so much deeper than that ten year old he knew - of course it is - and filled with so much enthusiasm it almost smothers the confusion, the suspicion-

The hurt. Because his father isn't the only thing Stiles abandoned.

"Hey, Scotty," Stiles tries for a smile, finding it comes far more easily than usual. As if Scott has alleviated his burdens, too, for just a moment.

"Your dad said you just turned up today! Are you okay? What happened to you? Oh my god, it's been so long-" Scott stops suddenly, grins bashfully as he puts a hand over his mouth. "Sorry, that was a lot. I'm sure you'll talk about it when you're ready."

Stiles blinks, so stunned by Scott's unexpected restraint it takes a moment for him to realise the other boy is introducing him to someone. "-don't know if you remember him, he's living with us now that...well, he's living with us."

The boy in question is an incredibly tall bundle of blond hair and too-sad eyes. He hunches, as if to diminish his imposing figure. Stiles remembers, vaguely- Isaac Lahey, quiet and introspective, whose mother had been killed in a hit and run shortly after Claudia Stilinski died.

He remembers sitting with the young boy at the sheriff's station. Not talking, because what could words possibly say? But sitting together, sharing their grief. The memory brings up others Stiles doesn't like to consider, and he looks away quickly, even as he sees from Isaac's expression that they are sharing it.

Malia promptly pokes him in the ribs. "Am I just wallpaper now?"

"You're perfectly capable of introducing yourself, Mal," he snaps back playfully.

"Hm." Malia climbs out of the bed, shoving Stiles unceremoniously onto the floor in the process. "I'm Malia. Not Mal. Nice to meet you."

She sticks her hand out awkwardly, but Scott takes it all in stride, shaking it eagerly. "Nice to meet you, really. How do you know Stiles?"

Stiles is half expecting her to simply come out with it. He's my alpha. He murdered my father. Lying is not Malia's strong suit; every bone in her body rings with blunt honesty. But living with Peter and Stiles must have rubbed off on her at some point, because she simply smiles back and says, "We met in New York."

Which is A, a lie, and B, brings up a whole host of new questions. But still. Progress.

Stiles was a year bitten when he met Malia Tate - not in the far flung starlight of New York, but right here in Beacon Hills.

His life had changed drastically since that first day, when a stranger with sharp eyes had offered him the freedom he could only dream of.

He knows he probably should feel guilty for running, for how quickly he left with Peter - for how easily he’d allowed werewolf to become the excuse he needed to cut ties. But he was a child desperate to flee, haunted by the scent of whiskey and his mother’s perfume. And the newborn wolf inside him was already howling for home in a way that had nothing to do with Beacon Hills, and everything to do with the alpha cleaning his wounds.

So when Peter Hale said New York,  there was no answer except yes.

Of course, he was still a ten year old boy, uncomfortable with the idea of comfort after so long spent in crisis. He got angry, a lot. Frustrated. Threatened to leave. And Peter, twenty-one years old, buried in guilt and responsibility and absolutely not ready for any of it, reacted in kind.

And Stiles did the only thing he knew how to do. He ran away.

Usually he fled into the woods, exploring it just as he had the preserve - he really hadn’t learned his lesson on that one - or lost himself in the sounds and scents of the city. He always came back after a day or so.

This time was different. Your father, Peter had begun, and the wall Stiles had built between himself and Beacon Hills had come crashing down.

Shot in the line of duty. The words ricocheted through his head, endlessly, repetitively, until Stiles’ feet drove him out of the door to think, to breathe, to try to escape them.

He hadn’t left with the intention of coming here, and yet where else would he have gone?

Looking back now, he hears the careful words Peter chose, how he danced around things such as killed and dead. How he let Stiles grieve without ever having to dirty his hands in a lie. A convenient omission that Stiles does not know how to judge. To spare him the pain of having a living but abandoned father? To tie Stiles tighter to him, to New York, so he'd be less likely to leave?

The lie turns over and over in his head in a maddening refrain, all the worse for the fact that this is the one riddle he will never know the answer to.

Stiles had gotten buses most of the way back to Beacon Hills, dropping him at the northern edge of the preserve. He needed to walk the rest of the way, to feel the pain this pilgrimage had cost him on a bone-deep level. He left his phone buried deep in his backpack, ignoring the angry buzzing that started up on day three. He was hungry, and tired, and yet his feet drove him on.

He hiked through the preserve for two days. His old memories of the forest felt like little more than fuzzy, black and white photographs in the face of what his wolf could sense. Even that first day, everything had been so much, too much, ending up blurred just the same.

Now he walked with his head turned to the sky, taking in every leaf and branch in the canopy. Listening to each rustle of twigs, his mind racing as two legs  became four legs became coyote, twenty feet to the left, hiding in the bushes.

Hiding. Because for Stiles there was nothing to fear, now. He was the scariest creature in the forest.

The thing that struck him most was how different these woods were to the ones he traversed in New York. Older, certainly. More alive. There was a pressure in the air, a presence that existed everywhere at once, directionless. Every rustle of leaves, every breath of wind, sounded more like a murmured voice than the creak of trees. Did that voice belong to the trees? To the spirits winding in between their trunks? To the dead?

It took him several minutes, distracted by his awe, to realise that the coyote was following him. At a distance, moving through the underbrush with the fluid movements of something used to being invisible.

But not to Stiles. He could smell its hunger seeping into the air, the ravenous desperation of an animal willing to try anything. He tried to stay calm, keep his pace and breath as relaxed as they had been before. But all he could think of was the last time he had been alone in these woods. The scent of blood was thick in his nose, the echo of pain sharp against his leg.

He could take a coyote, couldn't he? He had never been in a fight, never faced any danger except that first bite. He had become so comfortable in his own rush of new power, he had forgotten the world was still willing to do him harm. The wolf inside him less of a wall than a veil, still easily perforated. Like his skin, fragile, though it healed quickly.

His heart raced despite himself as his thoughts began to spin; he could feel the moment the other animal sensed his temperament.

The moment he became prey, about to bolt.

It sprang from the bushes suddenly, so fast even Stiles was unprepared. He was on the ground in an instant, a tangle of fur and claws. He tried to snarl, to push back against the creature, but desperation made his moves sloppy where it made the coyote powerful. Claws and teeth sank into any flesh available.

The worst thing wasn't the pain, or the certainty that fate had merely waited an extra year to claim him. It was the heat, the breath on his cheek, the coarse fur scratching against him. The feeling of something alien against his skin, violating the carefully constructed barriers around himself in such an open, direct way.

He stopped struggling. He still can't say, even years later, why he found himself staring at the cold daylight through the canopy, watching a pair of blackbirds whirling through the sky, utterly still. The world felt distant and unimportant.

And just as sudden, the weight vanished from him. He heard animal yelps, the gut-wrenching, slick sound of teeth tearing into flesh. A whimper- then silence. The rustling of leaves brushed away by a tail.

Slowly, he inched his body up. Blood, fresh and brighter than he thinks blood should be, soaked his jumper. Every movement felt like a new slash across his skin, and the world wheeling and shifting at an alarming rate.

He threw up water and blood, the only things left in his stomach.

Across the clearing was a coyote- not the one that had attacked him, he knew somehow, though he never saw the first. This one was larger, fur sleek in shades of grey and pale yellow; blood dripping steadily from its maw, though it made no move to clear it. It watched him with an intelligence that startled him.

The other coyote lay in a crumpled heap, leaves half-heartedly kicked over its fur.

Stiles knew all too well what that felt like. He retched, but there was nothing left to expel.

When he looked up again, shivering, the coyote was right beside him. Slowly, as if testing his reactions, it pushed its nose against his hand, leaving a smear of blood against his pale skin. He felt his wolf eyes flickering automatically, ringing with liquid gold. The coyote stared at him with deliberate, widened eyes.

Which glowed an icy, bright blue.

He had never met a full shifter except Peter, whose true form had been brutalised by his madness. This creature looked no different from the coyote under the leaves, save for that supernatural blue.

The one thing Peter had made clear, over and over again, as if afraid Stiles might forget: do not trust other shifters. Do not trust creatures who do not share your pack, share that bond closer than blood he could feel thrumming somewhere deep and hot inside his soul.

Looking into Malia's eyes then, those words had risen up in his mind. They had become meaningless already. He was tired of mistrust, though it had chiselled itself deep in his bones.

And where that singular, bright flame he knew to be Peter's bond had been, he felt a second flicker to life, tying him to the creature now curling close against his wounds, lending its warmth and companionship as he felt himself, every so slowly, begin to heal.

They had been inseparable ever since. Codependent, Peter used to scoff, an accusation that fell half-heartedly short in the face of their closely knit family unit.

Besides, there had been no one else.

No one else, except these ghosts that Stiles had let himself forget beneath a haze of anger. Just because the clouds eclipsed the sun doesn't mean it wasn't there.

"New York?" Scott asks, face so open and curious Stiles feels the words tugging at his tongue in an instant. This is a face he would tell his darkest secrets to, if asked.

A dangerous face. But one Stiles wants to let below his guard nevertheless.

"I ended up there for a while," Stiles shrugs, steadying his heart against prying ears. "Malia's a life saver, pulled me from the fire more than once. Some things just stick you together for life, y'know?"

Scott glances at Isaac, and Stiles is sure he does know. They're both thinking of that rope-tight bond between pack, a fire in itself. Indescribable to those who have never felt what it is to let another soul make a home in your heart.

Maybe this can work. Even with two packs, two alphas under the same roof. Because they all have that fire. And they all share loss - inextricably entwined with the love written in every line of their faces.

And maybe that shared understanding is enough. No more spilt blood.

No more spilt blood, Stiles promises, and allows himself a smile.

He only hopes it lasts a little longer this time.

[ohanahoku-ao3]

Whumptober Prompt 13

     Sixteen Hours. Also on AO3 here. @whumptober2020

    “Scott should be here soon,” Stiles said, slumping against his father. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” He murmured, smiling as his father slung an arm around him.

    “So am I, Stiles. So am I.” The sheriff told him, pulling him into a one-armed hug.

    Stiles rested his head against the sheriff’s shoulder, feeling tired after their mad dash to find the three missing parents.

    “How did you three find us?” Melissa asked, glancing between Isaac and Allison.

    The teens glanced at each other. “That’s… a bit of a long story,” Isaac answered, and Stiles chuckled softly, though it was covered up quickly by a slight cough.

    “Well, werewolf or not, Scott will take a while getting here,” Argent said. “We’ve got the time.”

    Allison smiled sheepishly and nodded, curling up next to her father. “You need a connection to the nemeton to find it.” She said softly, grabbing her dad’s hand. “The three of you were supposed to be sacrificed to the nemeton, to give power back to it.”

    Isaac took up the story when she paused. “Scott, Allison, and Stiles took your places as sacrifices.”

    “Wait, wait, what?” The sheriff sat up straighter, dislodging Stiles slightly, who huffed, his nostrils flaring for a moment before he settled back down. “They took our places? H-How does that even work if they’re not dead?”

    Isaac and Allison glanced at each other again, unsure how to answer the question.

    From the sheriff’s shoulder, Stiles gave a shallow sigh. “Because we were dead.” Everyone looked at him, and the teen shrugged tiredly. “Temporarily.”

    Melissa looked away, shaking her head. She lifted her head again after a moment. “It’s possible to induce a medical death with certain drugs and resuscitate someone before it’s too late, but it’s risky. You two could have died.” She said, staring at Allison for a moment before shifting her gaze over to Stiles, who was rubbing at his chest absently.

    “But we didn’t,” Allison reminded her softly, reaching over to grab her arm. “We’re okay. Really.”

    Melissa sighed, placing her hand over Allison’s. “I’m glad you found us. But under no circumstances are the two of you, or Scott, ever allowed to do that again.” She said, glancing between the two present.

    They nodded solemnly before hearing a voice call down from above them. “Ladder incoming!” A ladder dropped into the small space from the hole above them, Scott’s head appearing with a grin.

    Melissa and Isaac went up the ladder first, followed by the Argents. When it was their turn, Noah nudged Stiles gently. “Stiles, come on. Let’s get out of here.”

    “Out of where?” Stiles mumbled, blinking his eyes open before looking around. “Oh, right.” He cleared his throat and got up, climbing up the ladder slowly to join the others.

    Up top, Derek glanced at Stiles as he collapsed onto his backside with a tired groan. “What’s up with you? You look sick.”

    Stiles glanced up at him, nodding. “Yeah, think I might be-” He cut off suddenly as he turned away, his body convulsing suddenly with a violent heave as he threw up onto the forest floor.

    “Stiles!” The sheriff dropped down next to him in a second, placing an arm under him just in time to keep him from collapsing into the puddle of sick. “Stiles, what’s wrong?”

    The teen panted as he leaned back against his father, shaking his head. “I don’t- I don’t know.” He mumbled, and a harsh cough wracked his body, the teen coughing into his elbow. He lifted his head once it passed, but another round caught him before he could say a word, the teen struggling to breathe.

    “What’s wrong with him?” Scott asked, looking worried as he glanced at the others. “I thought no one was hurt.”

    “No one was.” Melissa murmured, kneeling next to the sheriff and his son. “Just how long were the three of you, uh, dead?” She asked, looking up at Scott.

    He glanced over at Allison before answering. “Deaton said we were gone for sixteen hours.”

    The nurse stared at her son for a moment, face blank. “That’s impossible.” She said, glancing down at Stiles, who seemed to have calmed for a moment. Though his face was now much paler, and his chest was heaving with the effort to breathe. “How exactly did you three die?”

    Scott was silent for a moment. “Ice baths.” He said after the slight pause. “They held us under.”

    “For sixteen hours?” The sheriff asked incredulously, holding his son a little tighter.

    He nodded, and Melissa inhaled sharply. “Delayed drowning.” She muttered. “Some water likely got into his lungs, and it’s causing inflammation.”

    “Well, what do we do?” The sheriff desperately asked as Stiles started to cough again, twitching and jerking in his arms.

    “We get him to the hospital as fast as we can,” Melissa said, standing up and looking around. “Please tell me one of you drove here.”

    “We passed Stiles’ Jeep on our way here,” Scott said, gesturing to himself and Derek.

    “Good. Scott, help the sheriff with Stiles, but be careful. You can’t aggravate his breathing. He’s having enough trouble as it is.” She turned to the others. “Allison, you should come with us. Your lungs should be checked, as well.”

    “I drove Isaac and me here. We can follow you in.” Allison said. “My dad can drive.”

    “Alright, let’s go,” Melissa ordered.

                                                            \/\/\/\/\/

    “He’ll be okay, right? Shouldn’t he be awake by now?” Sheriff Stilinski asked, his face creased with worry as he stared down at his son in the hospital bed, an oxygen mask over his face.

    “The doctor says he’ll be fine. He just needs time now.” Melissa murmured, gently pulling the sheriff back and guiding him into a chair.

    “This shouldn’t have happened,” Scott whispered. “Deaton said the process would only take a few seconds. It shouldn’t have taken sixteen hours.”

    “I really don’t think Deaton is qualified to perform such a procedure, magic or no,” Melissa muttered, sitting down next to Scott.

    The boy nodded. “We all knew that there were risks involved. But we needed to find you.” He said, wrapping an arm around Melissa’s shoulders. He looked over at the sheriff. “Stiles figured it out first, you know. He knew where you were being kept before any of us, and he wouldn’t rest until we got you guys out of there.”

    Things fell silent after that, the three listening to the hushed sounds of the hospital winding down for the night.

    Melissa sighed, curling into her son’s side. “And it seems we won’t rest until he wakes up.”

[stilessdylanobae-ddixonlove]

Some of us are Human - Stiles’s Dorm Room and Cali’s Coffee Shop (Chapter 2)

Author: @what-the-hell-is-a-stiles826

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, Rhiannon King & Reader  

Summary: You wake up in Scott and Stiles dorm room, confused and concerned. Later, you and Stiles over hear a strange conversation.

Note: Again, I’ll just say Y/n means your name and y/e/c means your eye color. Also, I gave your sister the name Nicole. Sorry if you don’t have a sister, just go with it. 

Chapter Two - Chapter Three

You blinked your eyes open a couple of times. It was bright and your head felt like someone stood over you all night repeatedly hitting you directly in the temple. The pain throbbing so violently around your skull you thought it might just split open. You got a peak of the white ceiling, light reflecting off of it making it nearly impossible to keep your eyes open. Your hair was slightly damp as you ran your fingers through it and reached for your phone on your night stand but found a warm piece of clothing instead. You nervously moved your hand across it, feeling it rise and fall slowly and deeply; it was breathing. You jolted upright and realized you were not alone. You glanced beside you, somewhat afraid but your eyes wide open now. Stiles. He was fast asleep next to you, still wearing his red and blue plaid flannel and his brown hair was slightly matted to the side. His head faced away from you and his right arm hung over the bed. You looked around the room and noticed Scott asleep in the bed across from the two of you, while Issac was cuddled up on the floor next to Stiles gray Adidas. You weren’t in your dorm at all, somehow you were in theirs. You rubbed your face, trying to remember last night the best you could. You got flashes, bits and pieces and grunted at yourself. What would his girlfriend think? Why were you here? Stiles moaned and rolled over, now facing towards you. You watched him peak through his left eye before closing it again quickly and scrunching his face. 

“Hey.” You whispered. His eyes fluttered open again and his golden ones met your y/e/c ones. He stared for a moment before letting out an enormous yawn. 

“Don’t freak out.” He said. But you were freaking out a little bit. Clearly nothing happened between you but you hadn’t woken up this hungover in a very long time. He sat up and rubbed at his face, the sound of his movement causing Issac to shift on the floor. “You wouldn’t go back to your dorm, so I snuck you in here.” He explained without you having to ask. You nodded to let him know you understood and rubbed at your forehead some more. 

“Why is my hair wet?” You asked, awkwardly. Surely he wouldn’t have helped you into the shower. You did not want to even think about Stiles seeing your drunken self, naked and vulnerable. But maybe he had Malia or Rhiannon help you, because that’s the kind of guy Stiles is. He smiled, which was a little annoying. 

“You wanted to go swimming in the fountain out front.” He giggled.

“What?” You responded in disbelief. He picked up his phone and read the time. It was only six in the morning. 

“Like three hours ago.” He continued, rubbing his eyes. You shrugged and placed your face back into your hands. You hadn’t noticed before, but you were wearing a long, baggy gray T-shirt with loose black sweat pants that were not your own.

“This is why I don’t drink very often.” You admitted, embarrassed. “Where are my clothes?” Stiles stood up and walked over towards the end of the bed. He pointed down to your jeans and tank top that were draped across the base board of his bed. 

“They are still pretty wet.” He said, gripping the sleeve of your top. He began to walk back around the bed and tripped over Issac’s long legs. He stumbled into Scott’s bed backwards and Issac sat up.

“Ouch!” Issac yelled. Scott turned over and saw Stiles leaning against his bed below his feet. 

“Morning to you too!” Scott replied to Stiles’ clumsiness. Stiles stood back up and made a face at his friend. Issac threw his blanket across the room, got up and stretched before making his way towards the door. 

“Well, since I’m up now, I have to pee.” Issac said as he left the room. You squinted your eyes at the light that shown through when he opened the door. 

“I uh, should get going too. But I’ll see you both around?” You asked, searching for your flip flops and grabbing your clothes from the foot of the bed. You were too afraid to ask any more questions in that moment, maybe you didn’t want to know. 

“Yeah!” Scott replied while Stiles watched you search and pointed under the desk across from Scott’s bed. You snatched up your silver flip flops and waved goodbye with them still in your hand before heading out the door. You closed it behind you and took a deep breath. 

Back inside, Stiles turned to Scott who raised an eyebrow. “We’ve got class in thirty minutes, dude.” Scott noted.

__

You sat in the black leather couch at your favorite coffee shop near campus. Your friend and roommate, Rhiannon, sat at the opposite end of the couch as you, gripping her latte in her hands. She took a sip and shook her head. 

“You woke up in their room?” She questioned. “And then you bolted?” She continued. You rubbed your fingers across the worry lines that appeared on your forehead, your bare feet tucked underneath you and your silver flip flops on the floor.

“I didn’t know what to say!” You explained, defensively. Rhiannon sighed and thought a moment about her response. 

“They used to be your best friends, how about thanks for taking care of my drunk ass.” She said. “Oh, and by the way I totally wasn’t worried about you or anything.” She rolled her eyes. You squinted your face and took a sip of your caramel macchiato. 

“I’m sorry.” You told her. “I didn’t mean to get that drunk. Just...” You trailed off. Rhiannon shifted in her seat and leaned forward, placing her drink on the coffee table. 

“Well, clearly he drives you crazy.” She said, devilishly. You jolted your head up, stunned at the nerve of her comment.

“What?” You said. 

“You totally like him!” She giggled. “I could tell something was off with you last night after they showed up, it didn’t take me long to figure it out.” You placed your feet back on the ground and held your coffee on your lap.

“Who?” You screeched. Rhiannon brushed her curly blonde hair back behind her ear and spoke again.

“Stiles!” She replied quickly. You gulped and shook your head. 

“Rhi, just don’t. Not with this one.” You pleaded to your best girl friend since losing Allison. You’d met her here only three months ago, as your college roommate. But the two of you instantly fit. Rhiannon curled her lip up at you.

“Wow, you really do like him.” She grinned. You took a drink of your coffee and then proceeded to stare down at it. Once again, memories of your last days in Beacon Hills flooded your brain. You thought back to when Stiles was still missing but you remembered him. Sure, it was Lydia who got everyone to remember but it was ultimately you that finally brought him home. You had begged and cried, allowing a rift to open that he could come through. But when he got back, he didn’t appear to you. He appeared in his jeep, then pretty much saw everyone else before he saw you. He’d already gotten with Lydia. It was that quick. 

___

“Why don’t we just ask her why she left?” Scott whispered to Stiles from the seat next to him in their computer science class. Stiles paused from his work on his laptop and huffed. 

“Maybe she left because we aren’t kids anymore. We graduated high school and people drift apart after that. Maybe that’s all there is to it.” Stiles assumed, obvious that he no longer wanted to talk about it. 

“But, why wouldn’t she say goodbye? Was she pissed at you for something?” Scott asked. Stiles whipped his head to the side, frustrated at the thought. 

“What? No. Was she pissed at you for something?” He replied, eagerly. Scott pressed his lips together, silenced. He didn’t mean to snap, it just came out a little stronger than he meant it to. He did worry that maybe he had done something to upset you. His cheeks flushed red at the thought, slightly embarrassed by his past actions. One of the last days the two of you had spent together before he was taken by the Ghost Riders has stuck with the both of you ever since. It was shortly before Scott and Stiles visited Alex’s house, right before Alex was taken from the station. Stiles had a discolored piece of the boys family’s shattered windshield. He was determined that something supernatural was going on and was desperate to prove it. The two of you went to his house before school to do some digging. The Sheriff was gone at the station and you were in Stiles’ bedroom researching things like ‘magic bullet’ and ‘blue residue’ while Scott took the piece of glass to Mrs. Finch to see if she might know anything. 

“It’s stained blue. There was something wrong with the way this windshield was shattered.” Stiles thought out loud to himself while you listened, both of you sitting on the floor, leaning against the side of his bed. His laptop sat on his lap while you scrolled through your phone. “Damnit.” He whined to himself and angrily closed his laptop. You turned to your best friend as he nervously bit at his finger nails.

“Stiles.” You gently nudged him. He dropped his hand and turned to face you, your shoulders touching. You stared into those golden brown eyes for a moment in silence and he waited for you to speak patiently. “We will figure this out. We always do.” You told him. “You always do.” You whispered. Stiles took a deep breath and smiled at you. You didn’t even know why you were sitting so close to him, it just felt nice. 

“You are always the one that believes me, no matter what.” He grinned. “Thank you.” He placed his hand on top of yours that was still holding your phone. And for some reason, on this particular day, he left it there. Your eyes, with a mind of their own, studied the tiny moles on his cheek and jaw line, then they moved to his lips. And all you could think about was kissing him. Why did you want to kiss him so badly? When did your boy best friend turn into this man you were starting to crush on, very intensely. You weren’t sure but you knew those feelings had been slowly brewing for awhile now. Your heart literally flopped in your chest when he reached his hand up to your face and very gently rubbed his thumb against your cheek bone. “Y/n.” He whispered to you, his eyes now staring at your open mouth. 

“It’s okay.” You told him, referring to what you thought he was about to do. What you hoped he was about to do. Those words gave him the courage he needed; the reassurance that it wouldn’t be awkward or weird. He slowly leaned in closer, wondering if you might stop him but couldn’t prevent himself from still trying. You lightly tilted your chin up, grazing his bottom lip with yours, a shock of electricity sprung though your chest as you waited for the actual kiss. But a sudden and familiar voice echoed through the house and Stiles pulled away. 

“Stiles!” Sheriff Stilinski shouted from out in the hallway. Stiles jumped up and you followed him just to the doorway, peaking your head out past his door to see him talking to his father and just like that the moment was gone. “Get your butt to school, both of you.” Noah demanded. 

Stiles thought back on that moment, nervously fidgeting in his seat. He had laid in bed that night contemplating what he’d almost just done, realizing the change in his own feelings towards you recently. Or maybe those feelings had always been there, he just now chose to fully let them in. He wanted to act on them. Until right before he was taken, he decided his feelings for Lydia were too strong. The girl he’s had a crush on since the third grade. That strawberry blonde hair, he couldn’t get past any of it quite yet.  And so, though he’d meant it, he said those three words in a rushed moment of desperation. “Remember, I love you.” With that, you’d lost him in every way possible and didn’t even know it yet. 

“I’ll drop it for now.” Scott concluded, picking up on his friends anxious body language. 

“Excuse me you two?” Professor Williams shouted loudly across the giant room, waking Stiles from his thoughts. “Am I interrupting your conversation over there?” Stiles sunk down into his seat. “Or is it maybe you who is interrupting the rest of us?” He snarled. Scott stumbled over the right words to say.

“Sorry.” Scott simply commented.  

You had three hours before your next class and your headache had finally subsided. You decided to eat your lunch at a secluded picnic table outside of the library. It was warm out, a light spring breeze blew through the large, very green tree shading you. Footsteps began approaching, so you looked up. Stiles again. He sat down across from you and swung his right leg over the seat across from you.

“Hey.” He spoke warmly. You closed your books, pushed them away from you and took the last bite of your banana, setting the peal down in front of you. “I just came from the library and saw you sitting here.” He continued.

“Yeah, I’ve got a bit of a break between classes.” You explained. “Hey, um, thanks for taking care of me last night. Sorry I kept you up so late.” You paused. “I’ll get your clothes back to you after I wash them.” You awkwardly lowered your hands into your lap and he smiled at you.

“Y/n, it’s fine. No problem, that’s what friends are for right?” He asked rhetorically while setting his backpack in the grass below him, getting comfortable. “I’ve never seen you drink so much.” He noted.

“Yeah, I don’t know what got into me.” You shrugged and pulled a can of Pepsi from your bag and opened it, taking a sip while Stiles remained quiet. You stared down at the bubbles forming on the lip of your can, listening to the small crackling noises. You wanted to explain. “I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye.” You began. Stiles’ face lit up a little at your brave words and he shifted in his seat, both legs now over his seat and completely facing you.

“Why didn’t you?” He somehow found the courage to ask, leaning forward against the table. You scrunched your face, crinkling your eyebrows. 

“Well, I supp-” Your voice broke as a loud, high pitched scream bounced off the building in front of you. Stiles turned around and you both stood up. “What the hell?” You wondered, Stiles exchanging a similar look of curiosity. You both ran forward, towards the scream. It was a student, facing away from you but you could tell she was crying. 

“Help!” She screamed louder. Professor Williams appeared and approached her, quickly. You were now close enough to over hear their conversation.

“Olivia, what’s the matter?” Professor Williams intervened. She covered her mouth, her hand shaking. 

“She came out of nowhere. She was crazy!” She cried. 

“Who? What are you talking about?” The tall, thin and over dressed college professor asked the girl.

“She took him! My boyfriend. She just vanished.” She sobbed. Stiles turned to me, a look of dread covered his face. A crowd was now forming behind us at the scene. 

“Her ears.” You pointed out. Both of Olivia’s ears were dripping a good amount of blood. Another teacher showed up and walked her out of the crowd. But not before she spoke again.

“She had white eyes.” She said, still shaking. The crowd was now whispering and you knew they were all thinking she was crazy, but you and Stiles knew better. Maybe something was here, something supernatural. Once Olivia was gone, the crowd began to die down and Stiles moved in front of you.

“White eyes?” He crossed his arms. “I better call Lydia.” He said, reaching into the front pocket of his jeans and pulling out his phone.

“Right.” You agreed with hesitation. So she was close by? You shrugged awkwardly and watched Stiles walk forward, away from you with this phone to his ear. 

“Hey, Lyds.” You hear him say before you began walking back to the picnic table to grab your things and text Scott. 

You-Hey, meet Stiles and I in the library asap. 

Message sent. 

Meanwhile, Stiles fiddled with his feet, kicking rocks away from the front of him and awkwardly talking to ex girlfriend for the first time in weeks. “I know, I just thought we could use your help. This could be something.” He said. “Okay, see you soon.” He finished up while approaching you again and you raised your phone to show him the text you’d just sent as he hung up with Lydia. 

“Come on, let’s go wait for Scott. Then maybe we can talk to Olivia, find out more.” You suggested. He nodded and you walked back towards the library doors together. 

Stiles and you found yourselves in a similar situation as before. Laptops, phones and researching strange things. Only this time, he has a girlfriend and you’re in a public place. You thought back on what happened after your last adventure and how you almost lost Stiles to more than just Lydia Martin. It made you a little nervous, not because you were afraid of what creature you might discover next. But because you were afraid for your friends as well as innocent people like Olivia. That’s why you were here helping. Although, sometimes you wondered why Scott let you be a part of this Pack even after all these years. You had an in because of knowing him and Stiles since kindergarten. Would you be a part of this if it weren’t for that? You didn’t feel like you were anything special. Stiles is human, but he’s got all the brains. What did you really bring to the Pack? 

“Scott and Lydia will be here shortly.” Stiles woke you from your thoughts. “Scott is just finishing up his anatomy paper and Lydia is on her way.” He finished. 

“Is she going here now too? I haven’t seen her.” Your curiosity got the best of you. Stiles looked down at this phone, awkwardly. Something you noticed and wondered why.

“Uh, no. She’s coming from Beacon Hills.” He answered you. You nodded, wondering if you should ask him about the two of them and how they were. You came to the conclusion rather quickly that you’d rather not know. Just be his friend, you told yourself. Get over it. You both sat down at a table in the middle of the room, side by side this time. 

A few moments passed. Stiles thought about starting up your conversation from earlier, at least a dozen times. Still desperately wondering what you were about to say. You scrolled through your phone, Stiles spotting an old picture of you and your sister. “How’s your mom and Nicole?” He asked. You looked up from your phone at his ice breaker question. 

“They are good. Nicole is a junior this year.” You explained. 

“Yeah, she’s a little ahead of Liam, Mason and Corey right?” He added, fully knowing what grade your sister was in having known you both for as long as he could remember. You nodded in response as you both heard the doors to the library open. “There they are.” Stiles said moving his eyes past you. You looked to your right to see Scott and Lydia entering the library together. Stiles waved an arm in their direction and the two approached you. They sat across from you and Stiles at your table and you thought it was odd that Stiles didn’t stand up and hug Lydia at the very least, rather the two barely even looked at each other.

“Hi, Y/n.” Lydia said firmly before finally glancing in Stiles direction. You looked to Stiles and then back to her, wondering what you’ve missed.

“Hi, Lydia.” You repeated back to her. Scott moved forward in his seat breaking Lydia from her awkward stares.

“You two are sure about this?” Scott asked, focusing on the reason you all sat in the library together.

“This girl was really freaked out.” You told him.

“You said she mentioned white eyes?” Lydia interjected. Stiles licked his lips and leaned back.

“Yeah, where’s the Argent’s Bestiary when you need it?” Stiles noted to the group and you sighed. “Lydia, you have any weird feelings on your way in here? Any banshee related vibes coming your way?” He asked.

“I can’t just turn this on.” She spoke, the frustration clear in her voice. “You know that.” She added quietly.

Scott looked down awkwardly before speaking.

“Alright, Lydia and I will see what we can come up with. I’ll see if I can catch some sort of scent.” He told his friends and Lydia shrugged. “You two can find out more from Olivia. If it is something, we’ll take care of it.” He finished. Lydia gritted her teeth and Stiles stood up.

“Okay but first, Lyds can I talk to you for a sec?” Stiles asked. She tilted her head slightly and got up, the two exiting the library together. Something felt off so you decided to confide in Scott.

“Why can’t you and I talk to Olivia?” You wondered why Stiles wouldn’t go with his supposed girlfriend. Scott smiled, a little annoyed.

“Is that what you want?” He asked. You scowled a little and picked at the skin on your lip. “Because I guess we could totally give them the time of day to make up, or you could go with Stiles and tell him how you feel about him since he’s too much of an idiot to speak up about how he feels towards you.” He stated, boldly.

“Wh...what?” You tried to play it like you had no idea what he was talking about but he wasn’t buying it.

“Y/n. Come on, I’ve known you two my entire life.” Scott told you. You huffed, now refusing to make eye contact.

“What did you mean ‘give them the time of day to make up’? They are fighting?” You asked. Scott folded his arms and smiled at you.

“Talk to Stiles.” He replied, not answering your question.

<<Chapter 1, Chapter 3>>

Any and all feedback is always appreciated! (;

[imaginefan]

Face From The Past *Part 6*

Theo Raeken X Reader

Word Count: 2450

<< Part 5

You watched as the masked men known as the Dread Doctors carried you into a dark underground room, it looked like a theatre in a Hospital. You were young, 9 years old, the sat you on the table and for some reason you didn’t try to run, maybe it had something to do with the fact that you saw a boy around you age opposite you, you waved at him but he didn’t wave back, another masked figure forced a woman into the room “perform the spell.” Came the static sentence. The Woman looked at you and then the boy, she walked over to you and pricked your finger will a needle collecting some of your blood and then did the same with the boy, she started chanting and it felt like something was knotting inside of you, the masked men looked between the two of you and then roughly pulled your arm up to where your birthmark was on the wrist, it looked like a small T, they each nodded and then the man behind the woman stabbed her.

You shot up from bed pulling up your sleeve to see that the mark wasn’t there, you remembered having the mark when you were little but it faded over time. You looked over at the book that you had read last night, Malia called you and told you about the book and what the others had found out about the book and you decided to read it before your meeting and lucky for you Elijah had helped to improve your reading skill and he finished it in under 2 hours. “(Y/N)?” Klaus asked from the other side of the door. “Yeah?” You asked. “Are you okay?” He asked. “Yeah. Fine… Bad dream.” You answered picking up the copy of the book that Elijah had gotten a hold of for you, you sighed before throwing it back down on your bedside table and laid back with your hands behind your head, you remembered last night, you talked to Theo until Klaus got back. You got out of bed and walked down the stairs. “Did that bad dream have anything to do with that book?” Elijah asked as you walked into the kitchen. “Maybe I don’t know.” You answered shrugging. They all looked at you and you rolled before launching into the description of your dream. “They looked at the mark on your arm?” Elijah asked and you nodded. “Yeah, it looked like a T.” You frowned as you pulled your shirt sleeve up but your arm was clear. “Maybe it was just a bad dream.” You shrugged before grabbing your bag leaving for school.

You walked into school and was met by Malia “Did you read it?” She asked and you nodded. “Yeah, I read it.”   You nodded. “Did anything happen?” She asked and you sighed. “Just a weird dream that Klaus is going to help me figure out.” You answered. “What was it about?” She asked. “I was in this old basement, it looked almost clinical, I was younger though, there was a boy in there with me and a witch and of course the doctors, they had the witch perform a spell and then they killed her.” You answered and Malia frowned. “Have you ever met the witch?” Malia asked you shook your head. “I never met her, I would have remembered and Klaus definitely would have.” You mumbled and she nodded. “Is everyone else still reading it?” “They are going to finish it tonight,” Malia answered, you closed your locker walking towards your first class. “Well, I guess I’ll be there tonight then.” You informed her and she smiled. “Thank god I don’t want to be the only one that stops them from running into traffic,” Malia said in relief, you giggled. “I’ll give you a hand.” You winked.

At lunch you were in the library again but this time you were looking for something on witches in Beacon Hills but there was nothing there, nothing that confirmed that there were ever witches in Beacon Hills, most supernaturals had passed through this town that was why you were surprised when the Mikaelson’s said that they had no idea what or where the town was. “What are you doing?” Someone asked from behind you and you jumped and saw that it was Theo. “I was looking to see if there were any records of witches in Beacon Hills.” You answered and he frowned. “In a school Library?” He asked and you smiled. “Well as we know most of the stories are true and if there were any here about witches in Beacon Hills that would have somewhat confirmed the theory.” You explained and he nodded. “You need a witch?” He asked. “No, I dreamt about one being here when I was little.” You answered and Theo nodded. “What was she doing?” He asked. “I don’t really know, the doctors had her do a spell and then they killed her, there was nothing boy and there was a mark, it was on my arm but it’s not there anymore.” You answered, Theo, looked at you and frowned. “Well maybe, your family can help you?” He suggested. “Klaus is trying to help me, I’ll just have to see.” You decided and he nodded.

“My mom's book club usually has more wine,” Lydia commented and you smirked. “I can get your wine.” You smirked. “Well I don’t think that’s a good idea, they also probably didn't read books that cause violent hallucinations,” Stiles said and you nodded. “That's why Malia and (Y/N) are here,” Scott answered. “So none of us go running into traffic?” Kira asked. “Or worse,” Scott added. “Like what happened to Judy.” Malia supplied and they all looked at her. “Chapter 14.” We both said. “Maybe I should have my mother read it. She might remember a girl with a tail leaping off the ceiling and attacking everyone.” Lydia said picking up to book and looking at it. “Yeah, if it works,” Stiles answered. “It has to,” Lydia answered. “What does that mean?” Scott asked. “I think I saw them during my surgery. When I look at the cover of the book… It's almost like-” “A memory trying to surface,” Theo suggested. “Yeah.” Lydia nodded. “Isn't that what Valack wanted when he wrote it?” Kira asked. “If they did something to me, I want to know what it is.” Lydia decided. “Anyone feel anything yet?” Scott asked after a few hours. “Tired,” Kira answered. “Hungry,” Lydia mumbled. “I think he meant the book,” Theo said. “I wouldn’t expect you to have felt anything.” You said. “What do you mean?” Scott asked. “Well, I didn’t remember anything until after I read the book.” You answered, “And mine was more of a dream, so I guess it presents in different ways, I mean Lydia felt something before she even opened the book, but I didn’t feel anything.” “Wait you remembered something?”Lydia answered. “Malia didn’t tell you?” You asked. “They never asked,” Malia answered. “Well I’m more astonished by the fact that you read this book in one night,” Stiles answered. “Before you left you hated reading.” “Well Elijah did not like that I refused to read things, so he made me read until I realised what I could find in a book.” You answered, after that conversation you ended up falling asleep.

The next morning you were Klaus called you home saying that he had a solution to your problem. “What’s the solution?” You asked as you walked into the house. “Good Morning to you,” Klaus smirked from the island in the kitchen. “It’s only a good morning if you really solved my problem.” You grumbled and he rolled his eyes. “Well, I have.” He gestured the living room where you saw Davina and Marcel. “How is the glorified vampire going to do for me?” You asked. “Oh, nothing but the harvest girl can help you,” Klaus answered. “Davina.” You greeted and she smiled, you were both good friends when she lived at the compound but then she was moved to live with the other witches when she was brought back to life. “He told me that you needed help,” Davina explained. “Yeah, I sort of do.” You nodded. You went on to explain what happened in the dream. “Well, the only way that I can help is if we got back,” Davina answered. “Into the dream?” You asked. “Mm-hm.” She hummed. “Can you do that?” You asked and she nodded. “Uh okay let’s do it then.” You nodded.

When you opened your eyes you saw that you were back in the basement or that was what you assumed that it was because it was definitely underground and there was no natural light in the room, you looked to see that this time you were actually l watching everything play out instead of being a part of it. “So who’s the boy?” She asked. “I have no idea.” You answered. “That’s a lie.” She mumbled. “What?” You asked. “I’m connected to your mind, so who do you think this is?” You asked. “I think it’s Theo.” You answered. “Who’s that?” She asked. “Someone in the pack, I met him when we came back.” You answered as you watched the witch take the blood. “It’s a linking spell,” Davina said. “It’s different from the ones that we normally do, I don’t know why. That mark it looks like there was a cloaking spell put on it after.” “Why didn’t I notice that before?” You asked. “Use your other eyes,” Davina ordered and you frowned before closing your eyes once you opened them they were a bright yellow, you looked down at your arm and saw the birth make that was supposed to be there. “Why can I see it now?” You asked. “Those eyes see through magic, I noticed on your last full moon when you lost control you were able to see the barrier around the compound that was set up to stop you from getting out,” Davina explained. “You waited and watched it before you found the weakest area to break out of.” “You never told Klaus this?” You asked. “I don’t like Klaus plus he acts like he knows everything already maybe you should ask him if he knows that,” Davina smirked. “Go see this Theo kid use your eyes, he should have a mark as well and it should be your initial if that’s what the T is for. I’ll head back to New Orleans and see if any of the other witches in the coven know anything, It’ll be hard though since some killed all the elders.”

Turned out you were actually in the memory for hours and now you weren’t sure where Theo was, it was easy to follow his scent though, Klaus had taught you how to use your senses better allowing for more options when tracking someone down. You ended up heading towards the gym. “Am I interrupting something?” You asked when you saw that Malia and Theo were talking not that you liked how close she was to him. “No.” Malia snarled before walking out. “Are you okay?” You weren’t really sure who you were asking but the only answer that you got from Malia was a slammed door. You looked at Theo who seemed to be smirking at the encounter and then he finally looked at you. “Are you okay?” He asked as he realised your eyes were glowing. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You answered as you eyes travelled down his arms and you walked closer grabbing his wrist and taking a deep breath as you noticed the (Y/I) on his arm. “What?” He asked. “Look.” You said putting your wrists together and he frowned. “With your other eyes.” He looked at you for a second and then finally looked down at your arms and while he did you just looked at him, you should have looked lower than is neck but your eyes kept travelling and you didn’t even realise that Theo was watching you. “What is it?” He asked as you snapped your eyes back to his. “Apparently according to a friend of mine we’re linked, the dream that I had it was me and you, you were the boy the marks are the evidence of the spell.” You explained. “What friend?” He asked. “Um Davina, she’s a witch that I met in New Orleans.” You answered and he nodded. “I have to go talk to Scott.” He said grabbing his jacket. “About this?” You asked, he shook his head. “We probably shouldn’t worry about this until we know what it is,” Theo suggested. “We’ll find out I promise.” He leant down and kissed your temple before leaving the room, you frowned what he had done didn’t feel wrong but you barely knew the guy.

“I need to test a theory.” You said as you walked down the hall with Malia. “What do you mean?” She asked. “I mean if they went through all of the trouble of finding a witch to do a spell, they need me for something, they are less likely to want to hurt me right?” You asked. “How can you be sure I mean they did this years ago.” She argued and you nodded. “But is it really a coincidence that I ended up back here the same time that they did?” You asked and she nodded.

The fight was not going well for Malia and in a moment of what Klaus would call crazy you jumped forward pushing Malia back towards the Elevator, the attacks seemed to slow as he tried to get around you, Malia harshly pulled you back into the elevator as the doors closed and you breathed a sigh of relief. “We never should have read that book.” Scott gasped and you raised an eyebrow. “It was probably the best thing that I could have done.” You smirked and he rolled his eyes. “They don’t want to hurt me, they need me for something, you can use me as a shield.” “They will do no such thing.” Klaus glared and you rolled your eyes. “What are you doing here?” You asked. “I tried to call you, you didn’t answer,” Klaus informed you. “So..?” You asked. “So you used a tracking spell?” “Your phone is easier to track.” Klaus winked and squinted at him. “Heard of overbearing parents, well introduce you to the overbearing Alpha!” You said as if presenting a show. “We’re done here.” Klaus declared. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” You whispered. “We’ll see,” Klaus called. “I’ll definitely see you tomorrow.” You winked before walking away.

Part 7 >>

Requests and general question!

[asagimeta]

Double-Face's search for a "perfect host body" feels very much like the DDS experiments in s5. I wonder if maybe we're gonna get some kinda tragic ending for a character, since he's seeking a supernatural host with "something more" than the usual shift (like Scott's True Alpha power, or Theo's chimera, or the Hale full shift) and he (and host) end up locked away on the Other Side.

You know Anon, it’s funny you should say that, because the meta pack has talked alot about sacrifices, specifically regarding two charectors: Scott and Peter, and your theory makes a hell of alot of sense…

Now, before we continue, it’s important to note that Scott and Peter aren’t the ONLY ones who need, thematically, to make a sacrifice, but they are the primary two, we’ll talk about the others later

First things first- the sacrifice you’re talking about is perfect because it’s a *TRUE* sacrifice, as in: There’s no “coming back” from it, this isn’t a situation where a person dies and comes back to life, or loses their powers and regains them, this also isn’t a situation where they get something out of the sacrifice that isn’t purely selfless (IE: If Jackson sacrificed his kanima powers and gained a full shift because of it, that sacrifice was not purely selfless, he never wanted his kanima powers anyway AND he got a reward) but this? There’s no reward for this, there’s no step up on the ladder, and there’s no “Oh I didn’t need that anyway” moment, it’s just sacrifice for the greater good, plain and simple

Now onto Scott and Peter and why they could both be perfect choices for this

Firstly, they both physically fit the bill, you said it yourself Anon, Anuk-Ite is looking for something *MORE*, not only harkening back to the Dread Doctors in season five, but also to THEO*, remember, Theo didn’t just want ANY pack- he wanted a DARK pack, he wanted SCOTT’S pack, because everyone in Scott’s pack was something *more*, he didn’t just have some betas and a couple of humans, he had the makings of something unique, to quote:

“I came for the werecoyote- the one who’s first instinct is to kill, I came for the banshee- the girl surrounded by death, I came for the dark kitsune, the beta with anger issues, I came for Void Stiles, that’s the pack I want”

Theo wanted a unique pack, a DARK pack, and we know that he’s not just talking about the species involved, werecoyotes don’t seem to be killers by nature, this is something Theo says but remember that Malia’s instincts are only as intense as they are because she lived in the wild during her formative years, we saw another werecoyote tonight- Edgar- who didn’t seem very violent, we can’t assume all werecoyotes are this way and even if we could, most packs don’t have any, coyotes- as stated by the beastiary- don’t like werewolves, and they CERTAINLY don’t like Alphas, so you’re hard-pressed to find one in a pack, banshees are also considerably rare if Jennifer and Arya’s reactions to Lydia are anything to go by, these are women who are DEEPLY involved in the supernatural and have been for most of their lives but they treat Lydia like a rare find, Theo then specifies he wants the DARK kitsune, not just any kitsune, and the beta “with anger issues”, not just any beta, but one who’s specially geared for violence, and, ofcourse, finally, VOID Stiles, not Stiles the human, VOID Stiles (seriously how does even know what that is??????? The thing possessing Stiles was called a nogitsune, Void Stiles was a term only used in private, so..??) Already we see that Scott’s pack has something *more* than most just in general, but back to my point

Scott is a True Alpha, a top of the line rare breed in the werewolf community, one that even most born wolves have only heard about in legend, and Peter is an odd case, he was a demon Alpha- wich in it’s self is not necessarily common- who died and was brought back to life via a convoluted banshee ritual, he also was taken by the Wild Hunt and escaped, he clearly has SOMETHING going on even if there isn’t a clever catch-all term for it, you also mentioned yourself that Theo is a chimera- a successfull one- but there’s something else special about Theo: He’s literally been to hell and back

*Theo is our third candidate, but we’ll talk about him later

SO why do Scott and Peter need to make sacrifices?

For Scott, it’s completing the hero’s journey, for Peter, it’s redemption

Scott has been stuck in stasis for a wile now because there are certain parts of his story that he refuses to allow to move forward, certain challenges he refuses to take and certain trials he refuses to face, and the more he refuses, the bigger his “debt” builds, think about it this way:

You have to get from Point A to Point B and along the way you have to eat a certain amount of candy, every few miles a peice is presented to you, now wile you CAN turn down the peice initially, you WILL have to eat it eventually before getting to Point B, if you keep denying peices along the way, then instead of eating one peice every five miles- wich is reasonable enough- you’ll get to the end with thirty peices waiting on you and you can’t advance until you eat all of them

Scott is facing something of the same problem, wile he does eat SOME of his peices when they’re initially presented, he’s saving alot of them for later, and those peices are building and building and building… and the bigger the pile of uneaten candy gets, the bigger his stomachache is going to get when he has to swallow down all of it at once

You can see even in recent episodes that there are still things that harkin back to Season One Scott, and NOT in the charming nostalgic way, let me give you a prime example-

In Magic Bullet when Derek tries to show Scott what hunters will do by telling him what happened to his family, what the Argents did, Scott replies with “Well then- they had a reason”, to put this at it’s most blatant: Scott is telling an innocent person that there MUST have been a reason his ENTIRE FAMILY deserved to be burned alive, for .. what? Being werewolves? Scott didn’t know the Hales, as evidenced by the fact that Stiles had to fill him in on everything regarding their family, what did he know about them besides the fact that they were werewolves and related to Derek? Pretty much nothing, so why else would he say something so crass? I get that he wanted to defend the Argents, but this kind of exceeds “defending the Argents” and goes straight into “Blaming the Hales”, Scott could have offered several different explanations- “Maybe it was an accident”, “Maybe they told someone else”, “Even if it was ONE Argent that doesn’t mean it’s ALL Argents”, but to imply Derek’s family MUST have done something to deserve being burned alive? Really? Now in “Pressure Test”, you have Scott ACTIVELY TRYING to throw two kids to the hunters- KNOWING they’ll be murdered- just because their eyes are blue, he seems determined not to see them as innocent people anymore the moment their eyes turn, even before they confessed to killing hunters (wich they didn’t actually do, by the way, they said they chased them down and tormented them) Mind you, Scott knows for a fact that not all blue-eyed wolves are vicious murderers, Derek and Malia both have blue eyes, and although his relationship with Derek is rocky at best, he’s downright DATING Malia now, either he believes his girlfreind is evil or he knows that eye color doesn’t necessarily mean you’re a cold-blooded murderer, but he’s ready to believe these kids *DESERVE* to be killed without even knowing WHY they have blue eyes… just like he was ready to believe the Hales deserved to be burned alive just for being werewolves

This is one small example of Scott circling the drain, but it nods to the much larger problem that he still has a type of internalized specism*, he’s always very quick to side with humans over werewolves even when the werewolves have done nothing wrong and the humans have (IE: Pressure Test) and is quicker to believe in evil supernatural people vs evil human people, he believes werewolfism needs to be suppressed, not controlled (there’s a difference, and the way Scott trained and taught Liam vs the way Derek trained and taught his betas is a good show of that difference, not that I think Derek’s teachings were all that grand, in fact, they were pretty cringey in their own rights, but the endgoals were VASTLY different, Derek wanted his betas to be able to defend themselves and work WITH their new power to do it, Scott wanted Liam to work AGAINST his power via control to the point of suppression and never taught him anything about self-defense, only control) Scott’s hero-journey has always been about finding harmony with himself as a werewolf and he still refuses to do that, he picks and chooses what parts he wants to take of being a hero and what parts he wants to take of being an Alpha, being a werewolf, being *other*, etc etc, and has refused to accept that these things are all fulltime and lifelong things, until he accepts all of that he’ll keep going in circles, collecting candy to stockpile until he reaches the end of his journey, and when he does reach that end, the sacrifice he’ll have to make (the candy he’s collected along the way) will be enormous…

Now let’s talk about Peter, who needs redemption, throughout the series Peter has toed the line between straight up villain and antihero, and before people start screaming, you have to look at how the charectors themselves treat him, particuarly in seasons three, four, and six, wile seasons one and two presented Peter as a Big Bad- end of story- you start seeing as of season three that the charectors are adjusting to him and reluctantly acceping his presence, when planning to break into the bank vault he’s sitting right there in the open and no one is trying to hurt him or even expressing anger at him, in fact, the only aggression he gets is a mild nip from Stiles and Stiles nips at everybody, he’s just an aggressive person that way, but there they are in 3A actively working with him, wich happens as well during Visionary with Cora and Stiles and again when Lydia and Allison seek his help, during none of these occassions did anyone act like they needed to kill Peter, just give him a swat on the head for being an irritation, that’s antihero interaction, not villain interaction, in season four Peter is back to plotting against Scott but before that he’s part of the deadpool and his interactions with Derek, again, show hero -> antihero interaction, not hero -> villain, even the sheriff lets Peter go along his merry way after killing The Mute, Derek takes pleasure in burning Peter but, again, that’s classic hero -> antihero banter, then in season six you have Peter actively helping the kids and you have more hero/anti-hero; Peter wants to use an innocent person as a guinia pig against Stiles’ wishes but ultimately it’s to HELP Stiles and himself, not just because he wants to see the kid die, later on we see the reluctance of Melissa helping Peter but she DOES help him- even if it’s just to use him- and wile Malia constantly gripes about having anything to do with Peter, she does seem sincere when she wakes him up and seemed sincerely concerned about him here and there, plus the very fact that Scott didn’t reach into his back pocket and dial Eichen to come pick him up when it was all over was probably telling to a degree

To be clear, I don’t like Peter, and I don’t forgive him for anything he’s done, but it doesn’t change the fact that there’s a very clear line between villain and anti-hero and Peter has been riding it like a mechanical bull since day one

But back on topic

Peter is still straddling that line both with fans and in the narrative as much of his anti-hero behavior has been fairly selfish/self-gratifying (he works with Stiles at the train station because he wants to get out of there, he’s hesitant to directly help Stiles just out of the goodness of his heart but the fact that he DOES is what has him sitting on the line of an anti-hero) and what few selfless things he DOES do (helping Stiles in 6A) are pretty small peas compared to the bad things he’s done (he gave the kids Roscoe’s keys but in the same breath encouraged them all to leave, regardless of what happened to Stiles after, this is a relatively tiny act of kindness and when you stack it against murdering his neice- just to compare to ONE- it really doesn’t hold up well as “Redemption”) The only way for Peter to get off the line between villain and anti-hero is to make a sacrifice worthy enough of pardoning some of his crimes, something selfless, something that shows that he DOES have compassion and a human soul and, preferrably, that he regrets the mistakes he made in the past, Crowly from Supernatural is the perfect example of what we’re talking about here, he straddles the villain/anti-hero line HARD series-long because even as of season 12 he was still plotting behind the Winchesters’ backs for his own selfish reasons, but then, you know, he killed himself to save them, wich was a big sacrifice that pretty much atoned for his behavior that season (throughout the series he’s had other moments of redeeming himself for crap he’s done but I’ll leave it others as to if he was really fully redeemed or not)

Scott and Peter both HAVE to make a big sacrifice for their narratives to work and to come full-circle, it’s just a matter of what that sacrifice is, the most common theories have been Peter’s death and Scott giving up his Alpha powers- or even his werewolf powers entirely**, but this could be a good way to avert either, though, if you want my honest opinion, I’d find it much more likely to be Peter’s sacrifice than Scott’s, I don’t think Teen Wolf will have a bleak ending (especially with the cast all being very excited and positive about it) and if Scott did, in fact, end that way, it would be an INCREDIBLY bleak way to end the show, Peter, however, isn’t, you know, the main charector, or even a hero, this would be a bittersweet moment and a great nod of redemption for him, it would give the show realistic depth and angst without going over the top and making the ending bleak and depressing

Now because I’ve talked so much about Theo- here’s the thing

This entire season is being played as Theo’s redemption arc, showing him living out of his car a few episodes ago was Teen Wolf’s way of punching you as hard in the feels as fast as they could to make you more primed to wanting to redeem him, it’s looking like they’re trying to turn Theo into more of a reluctant hero than a true anti-hero though, so in my opinion, his redemption moment will probably be alot smaller and not involve his own death, probably a really bad injuery that he sustains wile protecting Liam or saving Scott, maybe explaining his backstory or even apologizing to Scott would work, Theo is the world’s biggest dick but in comparison to Peter he hasn’t really done anything *THAT* bad, he’s tortured alot of people but only actually murdered one, who just popped back to life anyway, and in the realm of Teen Wolf that all seems like the sorta thing that can be washed away with a good chest wound and a sincere apology….. unfortunately…. but, I could always be wrong, this could be an interesting fit for Theo, my only problem is that it would be too close to what already happened to him- he was sent to hell, being locked in another dimension for eternity is too similar to that and would feel like a bland rehash instead of narrative genius

You mentioned Derek, but he’s pretty safe in my book, he completed his hero’s journey already and atoned for the wrongs he’s done, he EVOLVED, wich is the most textual nod to completing the journey I’ve ever heard of, he found peace within himself and has already made the big sacrifice he needed to acheive harmony and hero status by dieing in season four- and he came out of it evolved, not only did he spring back to life, but he brought a fancy new gift with him too, but this is where Derek and Scott are really different, Derek has spent the entire series eating his peices of candy as they come to him, if he made a mistake/took a step back, it was a small one and he paid for it pretty much right away, he didn’t keep looping around the same points and never learning from them, so when it came time for his big sacrifice, it wasn’t actually all that big, he didn’t have too much candy built up from other learning points in the series so he was able to swallow it without a problem, and he came out of it stronger- he DID make the sacrifice with death, he WAS prepared to die, and he had been slowly losing his powers and becoming human during season four, he had been preparing to die all along and making peace with it, even more of a reason for his evolution to have been well-deserved

I think our candidates, if this does in fact happen, are really just Scott and Peter, with my bets being placed 99% on Peter

*On the topic of internalized specism, Teen Wolf’s strongest allegory is that of sexuality, wich is probably why Jeff did the “There’s no homophobia in this universe” thing***, you see queer people who have internalized homophobia quite often, just like women can have internalized misogyny and POC can have internalized racism, belonging to an Other doesn’t exclude you from Othering, but I would say that internalized homophobia is probably one of the more common examples, I was just saying in the meta chat earlier that the confrontation in the bathroom between Edgar and Spider Dude reminded me of the stories I’ve always heard about and seen with homophobic and closeted queer people following someone they were just attacking into a bathroom/closet/motel room/whatever and essentially pulling the “I’m not gay, I just want to have sex” card, that’s an example of internalized homophobia- an extreme one, mind you, there are much more common smaller cases such as following standards of heteronormativity in queer relationships- Scott often displays internalized specism this way- on the less extreme end, again- he can say “I’m a werewolf and I accept that”, and he can kiss other werewolves and feel kinda ok about it, and he can preach that werewolves are just like everyone else, but at the end of the day if a human goes “Ow that werewolf hurt me” Scott is going to turn around and punish the werewolf without any proof because they’re a werewolf, do you see what I’m saying? (I hope you do, that was long winded)

**On the topic of losing his werewolf powers entirely, this goes back to the allegory, some people have thrown around the idea of Scott’s ultimate sacrifice being a full loss of his werewolf powers because he’s always wanted to be normal, he’s always complained so much about them and tried to ignore them and tried to pretend he was a normal human, he’s always seen them as a curse (except when they’re helping him with lacrosse) so it’d be, in some ways, a bittersweet poetry if he had to give up those powers to save everyone and became the only human in the group, being othered all over again but in a much different way (this, ofcourse, partly would depend on magic!Stiles being a thing because otherwise the impact wouldn’t be there because they’d BOTH be outsiders again just like season one and nothing woudl have changed) The problem I have with this is that it really tears apart the allegory, a gay kid can’t just release his gayness into the ether and then go about his life as a straight person, if Scott did the werewolf equivolant it would destroy the message

***On the topic of homophobia not existing in the world of Teen Wolf, we see no homophobia, true, but bisexuality is treated rather weirdly, the idea of being attracted to more than one gender seems to take people by surprise (Stiles and Liam specifically) and this is especially noticeable when Caitlyn and Stiles have their scene at the rave, Stiles seems surprised and confused by the idea of Caitlyn liking both girls and boys and doesn’t quite roll along with it as easily as he always does when someone mentions being gay, I still think we’re going to get a scene about bisxeuality between Jackson and Stiles with Stiles acting in surprise that Jackson is bi and Jackson rolling his eyes about it, bisexuality seems to just be extremely uncommon in the Teen Wolf world, there are allegories for that too but… it’s five A.M. and this has gone on long enough ;)

[milenadaniels]

Soooo, I wrote fic for the first time in 2 years? The thirst for Sterek is strong. Very strong. This is part 1 of a series of at least 2, maybe 3 fics depending on what happens Sunday. 

[Read on AO3]

When Derek had first been caught, after the overwhelming rush of panic and adrenaline that had sustained him through weeks and weeks on the run gave out, he had settled into a brittle kind of numbness. He’d lain in the dirt, bleeding from at least two puncture wounds, but hadn’t felt the pain of the numerous arrows he was vaguely certain were now lodged in his body. No. Instead, he’d been bothered by the cloyingly rich smell of the dirt under his nose. He had felt the burn of overexertion climbing up his upper chest and throat. He felt the pounding of his head as the mild headache he’d carried for days took a violent turn for the worse.

But as soon as he’d hit the ground, it was like the remainder of his awareness had been knocked right out of him. He hadn’t heard how many footfalls slowed from a sprint, to a jog, to stillness around him. He only absently realized that his hands were being pulled back and bound. And though he never fully loses consciousness, he loses all sense of time from that point forward until he reawaken in a cold, nearly airless eight by eight foot room in which he is shackled by what, judging by the horrific burning, must be wolfsbane-laced cuffs around his limbs and neck.

He panics then; he feels that too familiar anxiety and deep fear rise up from his belly into his throat to choke him. He sees a flash of blonde hair, hears the tail-end of a laugh. So he sinks into the pain of his burning skin and lets himself fade again.

He doesn’t know how many hours or days go by like that. He knows he’s being hurt, but only distantly. He sees fists and devices come towards his body, make contact, and then leave again. He sees the anger and frustration on the faces of his captors but feels no fear as a result.

And then she takes over.

He registers that he should be scared. He registers that she never looks angry or frustrated while she’s in front of him - her lips are always curled into an easy smile - and that should terrify him. But he’s too tired. Too weary of this cycle. Of being free, until he’s not; of being safe, until he’s not; over and over it repeats. And he thinks, if he can just let go this time. If he can just fade away - take the hits and let them take what they want - then maybe it’ll end. Maybe he can break this cycle. Maybe if he’d been smart enough he’d have figured that out ages ago...

To which Stiles replies, “Really?” His smile is also easy, but it’s warm. It’s inviting, and soothing, and it instills a sliver of serenity deep inside Derek to see it. “Great plan, sourwolf. Just kick the bucket, that’ll show them.”

Derek’s facial muscles feel like stone when he tries to grin ruefully back at him.

“How’d you find me?” Derek asks lazily. They’re sitting in his camaro, facing the oncoming waves of the Pacific ocean. He probably shouldn’t have driven this far out on the beach, it’ll be hard to get the traction to get back. But that’s a problem for later.

Stiles shrugs, tapping his fingers listlessly on the gear shift. “How I always find you.” He raises his fingers up to wiggle them at Derek, who looks away immediately. “Magic.”

Derek snorts. It doesn’t matter, really.

His window’s been rolled down and the humid, salty air is grounding him. He’s read somewhere that decades and centuries ago, northern people would move south to find coastal climates to heal themselves. It was a good idea to come here.

“How long are you here for?” He asks Stiles, who’s now gripping the gear shift, but drumming the fingers on his other hand on the dashboard in a rhythm Derek can’t follow.

“As long as you need.”

Derek nods. He appreciates it.

“Are you nervous about something?” Derek asks.

Stiles turns to face him. He’s cut his hair back to the buzzcut he had when they first met. It looks weird now against the more angular cheekbones of his older face.

“Nope,” he replies. “Just trying to get you to pay attention.”

Derek turns back to the ocean. The moon is full and bright in the sky, but he feels no pull from it.

“I am,” he insists.

The drumming gets louder, like claws against an empty metal box, and Derek can only count to the crashing of seven more waves before he can’t ignore it anymore.

“Stiles,” he begins, his tone warning. But when he turns to face him, Stiles’ hands are splayed out in the air facing him, and Derek can’t help but count 11.

Electricity, as a tool of pain, makes a comeback. Whatever minor reserves of werewolvian strength he still had are being zapped away with each touch of the current. They give him water, though they haven’t fed him yet. As his body seizes and spasms helplessly once more, he wonders how long the customary wait between meals might be during torture. Is it like on-flight service? Because on flights shorter than 4 hours, he doesn’t think meals are served. Has he not been there long enough yet? How long has he been there?

The buzzing in his skin, in his veins, in his bones dies down suddenly.

“You used to be a fighter, sweetie. What happened to my little Scrappy Doo, huh?”

In a psych class at college, Derek had learned about learned helplessness. There was an experiment where dogs were given electric shocks they couldn’t escape, but when introduced into an environment where they had the power to stop the shocks, they didn’t even try. One half of their crate produced electric shocks, the other half didn’t, and they never bothered to walk around the crate to figure that out. They had just lain down, because in the previous part of the experiment, they’d been taught that the shocks were inevitable and uncontrollable. That lesson stuck with Derek like nothing else in his brief years at college had. Over the years, whenever he’d felt like nothing could change, he would think of those dogs and force himself to do something, anything . Often, it turned out that ‘anything’ didn’t improve his situation any, and sometimes made it worse, but at least he’d tried. So long as he never stopped trying, he could live with himself and whatever was thrown his way.

But he thinks he gets it now. The dogs were right all along. Yeah, they could have walked around and found their way to the other side of the crate. They could have learned in this very controlled environment that they had a modicum of power over their circumstances. But ultimately, they were getting shocked because some guy in a white coat stuck them in a lab and was hurting them for science. There’s no happy ending to that story, only momentary reprieves and hollow victories.

The reason Derek is at Beacon Hills High School in the middle of the night, heart pounding as Jennifer walked out of the teachers’ lounge is because people more powerful chased him through three states, kidnapped him, tortured him, and are injecting him with various substances for science. And for fun. And there is no escaping that. He gets that now. And he no longer feels any shame in the thought of laying down and accepting it. There’s nothing he can do.

Still, he appreciates it when Stiles pulls the fire alarm with an unrepentant shrug.

If his life had room for quiet moments, he might have wondered why the comfort he turns to in his mind is a random teenager he’s strangely connected to yet hesitates to even call a friend. Why not Laura? Why not his parents? Is it pragmatism? Would his mind just not allow the delusion to play out knowing he was speaking to people long dead while technically Stiles could be in this makeshift dungeon with him?

Is it yearning? Some unresolved something that could have been if he’d stuck around, if one of them wasn’t broken, if the other hadn’t been possessed, if, if, if…

Or is it maybe just...habit? That his mind has accepted that, if it were to replay a highlight reel of his worst moments in the past five years, Stiles would feature in almost every one of them, either as the person saving his life, or as a simple source of comfort. Is that pragmatism? Yearning? Both?

But of course, his life does not make room for quiet moments of reflection.

His stomach hurts. He’s sure his entire body hurts, but somehow, his stomach is commanding all his attention. Is it bleeding? Is it punctured? Has it been ripped out of his body? Has he been poisoned?

He’s been mostly aware for a full day now, he thinks, though he has no point of reference for this, really. But Kate’s gone. He’s been given water. And aside from his stomach, it’s been the most pleasant day he’s had in a long while.

When Kate comes back, Stiles winks at him, hands mercifully stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie and jerks his chin as if to say, “let’s go”. So he goes.

The woods of the Beacon Hill preserve are so calm this time of year. It’s the dewy comfort of fall, and also the tranquil stillness of the the world after a fresh snow. It’s spring blossoms and summer humidity. The two - three! - packs are running together under the light of the moon, and the world is just breathing, in and out, unhurried.

Laura has managed to shift into a full wolf and their mom is so proud. They’re running together. Cora is seven years old and trying to keep up on two legs, laughing herself out a powerful gait. And deep in the forest, Derek can hear the happy roughhousing noises of his three betas.

He’s building a bonfire with his dad, and the flames don’t hurt him. When he reaches for another log, a warm hand slips into his palm instead, and his stomach hurts again.

He knows it’s not real. No matter what idyll is presented to him, his soul is too tarnished at this point to ever accept a version of his life where peace is an option. But Stiles doesn’t always come to whisk him off into a fantasy. In this prison, sometimes Stiles comes to him, begging for his help. Sometimes he’s covered in blood. Other times, his eyes don’t belong to him and in those cases, Derek welcomes reality more than the horror show his mind can conjure up.

And sometimes, there is no fantasy. Sometimes his mind is so tired it can’t even provide a utopia. Sometimes Derek dreams in simpler factors - that the door is busted down and there’s a young deputy wielding nothing but a bat on the other side, with no plan, no backup, and no real shot at pulling this rescue attempt off. But because it’s Stiles , somehow it works out: Derek is pulled down from the metal, and they just walk away from this.

No matter the scenario, everything always comes down to numbers. Six when it should be five, eleven instead of ten. He avoids it for as long as he can but he knows eventually his attention will be called to those fingers. They’ll wave cheerfully at him. They’ll squeeze his hand. They’ll splay comfortably across his shoulders and he’ll feel each of the imprints fingerpad on his skin. And he’ll allow it because he craves it, but then the illusion will be over.

Even as that door busts down, and Stiles stands on the other side of it, too fierce and terrified in equal measure, Derek knows he has only moments to enjoy this reprieve. There’s no bat this time, but a gun instead. And he’s not alone, he’s brought the pack with him. Derek watches dispassionately as one by one his tormentors are taken down, none left alive for questioning because his mind is unforgiving and uncaring of the rule of law at this point.

And then Stiles reaches him. His smile isn’t easy or cocky or smug. It trembles as if he’s barely managing it. And then he’s out of view and after a few moments of tugging, Derek falls to the floor, barely thinking to brace himself. His head smacks hard against the cement floor and immediately long fingers are stretching out towards him so he closes his eyes, not yet ready to face them.

“No, no, no, stay with me.” he hears Stiles murmur. “Hey, come on, big guy.”

Stiles’ fingers comb through his hair quickly, efficiently, looking for something, and Derek lets his body relax onto the hard floor, reveling in the feeling of being horizontal for a moment.

“Hey,” Stiles calls. “ Hey. ”

A finger flicks him on the edge of the ear, hard, and he opens his eyes.

“I know you’re in rough shape and I can’t imagine what you’ve been living through for however the fuck long but we gotta get out of here before people get a chance to ask questions. And trust me, these people are really good at making sure their questions are answered. So I need you to wake up now and get to your feet because I can’t drag your 200-pound ass out of here on my own, especially not without getting all eyes on us.”

Derek blinks slowly. This sense of urgency Stiles is projecting is new. He nods, because he thinks it’s expected of him. Stiles nods back and his face loses some of its tension. “Okay, let’s go.”

Stiles leverages himself on the balls of his feet and grips Derek’s hands to pull him up in one, less-than-graceful move. It feels different than the other times. Something’s different. Stiles tries to pull his hands away but Derek grips them tight, breathing hard for a moment before forcing himself to look down.

One, two, three,

“Hey,” Stiles says, tugging at his hands. “Derek. Please, you gotta focus up, man. You can go comatose when we’re clear but we have to get out of here.”

Four, five, six -

“Derek ,” he pleads. “I know you’re there, dude. And we’re so close to landing this plane...or whatever, you’ve just gotta pull up. Come on. Be that guy who landed on the Hudson. You can do-”

“Shh.”

Seven, eight,

“Did you just - did you just fucking shush me in the middle of rescuing you?”

Nine,

“Ten,” he whispers reverently. He wants to brush his thumb across each finger to verify tactually what his eyes are telling him but the minute he loosens his grip, Stiles’ hands slip away to help him stand on better footing.

“So basic arithmetics are a go, that’s great, my man,” Stiles says, sounding only mildly sarcastic. “What about motor functions? How about we give those a trial run?”

He looks up at Stiles and sees him for the first time. His hair is long, he’s got stubble , and his amber eyes are dark and worried. Around them, Derek sees this torture chamber of a room he’s been kept in like an animal. Sees the blood staining the walls and floor and his own body, which he barely recognizes. He wants to explain something, but doesn’t know what. He wants to ask questions but doesn’t know which.

“My stomach hurts,” he tells Stiles, whose face goes through a cycle of difficult expressions before landing on sympathetic but unyielding.

“I don’t doubt it. But we gotta go, so you’re gonna lean on me and we’re gonna haul ass. Deal?”

Stiles takes off, dragging him along before Derek can respond to what, in hindsight, might have been a rhetorical question. Or maybe it wasn’t rhetorical, maybe he just knows that, after all they’ve been through, he may be the only person on the planet Derek would say yes to before hearing terms. The only person he’s learned to trust unquestioningly.

So Derek picks his feet up as best he can. He grips Stiles’ vest with more force than he means to, but the numbness that had kept him company for so long is slipping away with every step he takes. They pass armed strangers that appear to be with Stiles, but Stiles pays them no mind, pushing on further and further until they’re outside and Derek is reintroduced to the pure taste and smell of unrecycled air.

He’s folded into the passenger seat of an unfamiliar car that smells like Stiles, and without meaning to, loses time again.

When he comes to, the sun is rising on the left, and there are no cars ahead of them.

Stiles’ right hand is on the gear shift, and his left is on the wheel, his fingers tapping out a beat Derek can’t place. This scene is familiar, it’s haunting, and Derek shifts quickly until his face is angled out towards the passenger window instead.

“Hey, you with me?” Stiles asks. His right hand leaves the gear shift and settles gently on Derek’s forearm, all fingers splayed out. Easy to count, even without looking.

He smiles. “Yes.”

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, a-wolf-and-his-boy!

For @a-wolf-and-his-boy. I hope you enjoy this work, I had fun writing it.

Read On AO3

*****

A Summer Night's Ball

Chapter 1 - The Ball and Garden

“Come on, Stiles. Everybody is going to be there and who knows, you might run into your mate!” Scott said. He was (unsuccessfully) trying to tug Stiles from his bed without ripping any blankets. “Sitting in a ball of misery isn’t going to help things. So Lydia isn’t the one for you, so what? You’ll find someone just as good.”

Stiles poked his head out of the cocoon of blankets he’d made to say, “Scott, there’s not going to be anyone as good as Lydia and I’m probably doomed to be alone for the rest of my very short life. Just because you met your mate at the masquerade ball doesn’t mean I’ll meet mine. Why is that even still a thing? There are better ways to meet people than dancing with a bunch of masked strangers that you’ll never see again.”

Scott made a grab for Stiles’ head, getting a handful of hair before Stiles could retreat back into his cocoon. “It’s the biggest event in the country and plenty of people go to see if they might find their mate.” Scott grew claws on the hand not holding Stiles and slowly brought it closer to the chunk of hair in his grasp. “So get out of bed or you’ll be getting a new haircut this minute.”

“Don’t mess with the hair, dude!” Stiles tried to toss the covers off, knocking Scott off-balance who ended up falling on top of him.

“No crushing the Stiles either. Get off of me.” Stiles shoved Scott to the side, who ended up on the floor given how small the bed was. Stiles got up and reached for his closet doors only for Scott to stop him.

“Dude, my mom and your dad got something for you to wear to it so go to the bathroom and change into the clothes hanging in there and then we can go.” Scott turned Stiles around and shoved him out of his bedroom. Stiles mumbled as he walked to the bathroom about the traitor keeping him out of his own kingdom, got in and saw a full suit hanging. Never had Stiles felt so betrayed since that time in school when Scott refused to watch Star Wars with him, only to end up watching it with Allison later that year. After changing into the uncomfortable outfit, Stiles got out and saw Scott in a similar suit, though thankfully not matching like a couple. Both of them were wearing half-masks covering only the upper half of their faces, one of the more traditional choices. The bright red mask Stiles wore was slightly less traditional but he’d already given in to wearing appropriate clothes, he wasn’t going to wear a boring white mask too. He’d worn it to every ball and he wasn’t going to break that streak for anyone, luckily it looked like their parents knew that since the mask matched with his suit.

“Well, let’s get going. Sooner I’m done with this, sooner I can go back to my den of despair, misery and hopeless pining.” Stiles said.

“That’s the spirit! Who knows, I still think you might meet someone.” Scott said.

“And that’s why I have you, a ball of infinite optimism and sunshine.” Stiles said. The pair got into Stiles’ old beaten jeep and went to the old castle near the center of Beacon Hills. The country’s royal family lived elsewhere (nobody sure where the Hales currently lived after their last home burned down. Luckily, none of them were hurt.) but the castle itself was still used for major events like the Annual Ball that happened in the summer on the solstice. Being a spark, Stiles knew it was one of the major days of performing magic and the ball was originally a ritualistic event performed by the community to shelter them from anything evil. Nowadays, there were quicker, easier and safer methods so the ritual itself had stopped but the gatherings took on a new purpose. They were a chance for people to get together and possibly meet their mate or let people gossip about the latest incident or talk business. It was a day devoted to love according to the romantics like Scott or business to the less romantic like Stiles.

They pulled into the designated parking lot, almost full because it had taken Scott a long time to drag Stiles out so the pair were late since it started at six pm and it was close to eight and sunset. Stiles was feeling a little jitterier than normal, his spark was acting up a little but he put it down to what always happened at this event. It wasn’t like that last year when part of the Hale family didn’t show up but that was a coincidence as far as Stiles was concerned. After walking past the security, they entered the crowded ballroom.

“I’m supposed to meet Allison near the refreshments table so I’ll be heading on over. Go socialize a little, maybe dance a bit. My mom should be floating around if you are really bored but I think she finally got your dad off for one of these things and invited him.” Scott said.

“Dude, you should’ve told me that earlier and I would’ve come without a fight!” Stiles said. He gestured a little too strongly and almost hit a woman next to the pair. She glared at him and walked away so he turned back to Scott. “We’ve been trying to get them together for ages now, I thought it was agreed we tell each other any developments pronto.”

“I thought you already knew! You always seem to know everything before I find out so I thought you knew about them coming together too. Look on the bright side, we might be brothers soon!” Scott held his hand out with Stiles giving him a high five. Scott turned and his face took on a dopey grin.

“Guess I can’t bother Melissa then. She’d kill me if I ruined her chance.” Stiles noticed Scott was no longer paying attention to him. He shoved Scott and said, “Go on, I know where your mind is.”

“Thanks, Stiles. I’ll see you in a couple hours. My mom said we could be out as late as we want so don’t expect me to ride back with you.” Scott blurted out and then took off running, knocking a couple people over in his rush to get to his mate. Stiles shook his head and walked the opposite direction, the band switching over from the high-paced song they had been playing when the pair walked in to something slower. Stiles spotted his dad and Scott’s mom on the dance floor, swaying to the song, his dad in a similar suit to him and Scott while Melissa was in a matching dress. It was obvious they have been planning this for some time now and Stiles was pretty disappointed he hadn’t seen this before Scott.

The area near the dance floor was crowded as can be, a mix of people leaving the floor and trying to get on causing a traffic jam with no end in sight so Stiles gave up on dancing after trying for a few minutes. Spotting an exit nearby, Stiles took it to get some fresh air and maybe see what else he could see in the castle. While it was generally open to the public, there were still some parts that were off limits that he might be able to see this time around, even though he’d tried last year and failed so badly his dad had to bail him out. The exit he took led to a hallway he’d been in before, with less guards around to block him from snooping luckily. He peaked in a few doors only to see empty rooms with no furniture. Some had obvious cobwebs in the doorways and dust stir after he opened the door so that was a major disappointment for Stiles. He’d been hoping for something interesting given he was never allowed in but the rooms were filled with nothing after nothing after nothing.

His last hope for anything of interest was the last door at the end of the hall. With a quick charm, he was able to unlock the door and exit into what must have been a garden. He hung his jacket from a nearby tree branch and placed his mask on top of it, glad for some cool air after being inside the hot room. Most of the gardens were open to the public so he figured he’d probably seen this place before during daytime. He turned to leave until he noticed the large white wolf statue in the center straight ahead on the path from the door. That was something he had never seen before. Stiles approached the statue, noticing that the fur was extremely detailed, every strand was lovingly carved. The wolf was posed as if to threaten any intruders, teeth bared as if in anger.

He was almost to the statue when he heard a growl which he jumped and thought came from the statue itself until he heard it again. Turning around, he saw a large black wolf, eyes glowing a haunting yellow, staring right at him and felt a shock at the sight from his spark. He froze and saw the wolf do the same before it took a deep breath and softly whined at him. Stiles had no clue what to do about the obvious werewolf and stood still, slightly trembling. The wolf crouched down and approached him, Stiles wanted to back away but doing that now would be a giant mistake. He had to hope that the wolf wouldn’t do anything to him for obviously trespassing on Hale property.

“Nice sourwolf. No need to get violent. I can go back to the party and we can forget I ever did something this stupid, okay?” Stiles held his hands up in surrender. The wolf was almost to him, still taking what he thought looked like a submissive stance, before it reached him and shoved its nose up against him and loudly breathed in. “Whoa there, don’t you think that’s a little too personal? Buy a guy lunch before you start sniffing him like that at least.”

The wolf rolled its eyes before it gently grabbed his vest and tugged him away from the statue and away from the door he had come from. He followed along since he didn’t have much choice, ending up approaching a small bench that was hidden further into the garden. He saw a basket full of clothes next to a small bump on that side of the bench but ignored it as the wolf shoved him at the bench. He flailed for a moment before landing on the bench, mostly upright. “Hey, be gentle! You could have nudged me and I’d have sat down.” The wolf turned, grabbed the basket by the handle with its mouth and walked behind a bush. “Oh, so that’s for you to change back. Might actually get to talk to the man behind the wolf, huh? Don’t take too long.”

A couple branches shifted and one cracked loudly while he waited, probably the wolf turning back into human form while crouched down, Stiles guessed. A hoarse masculine voice said, “You aren’t in trouble for coming back here. I didn’t expect to find my mate here but I’m glad to see the white wolf is still looking out for my family.”

The man came out fully only in a shirt and jeans, eyes no longer glowing a bright gold. It was hard to tell what his looks were from how late it was getting until the man walked right by Stiles and pressed something on the other side of the bench and lights sprang to life in the garden. The gentle glow illuminated all the flowers, breathtaking in how they were arranged like rays of the sun coming from the center where the wolf statue was vaguely seen from where they were.

Stiles looked the man over, his shirt was tight against muscles he’d love to see, stubble he’d love to rub his face against but the eyes were the man’s best feature. They sparkled in the light, flecks of gold and possibly other colors glittering within. His admiration of the man’s perfect body halted when he registered what he said. “What do you mean, mate?”

“Can’t you feel the bond? I knew from your scent you were my mate. I have been catching your scent at these things for years, today was the first time I’ve seen you. I never expected my mate to be the local sheriff’s son.”

“And who are you? You’re obviously a werewolf, you are allowed back here and are an unmated man so you have to be a Hale but there are a couple it could be.”

“Derek Hale.” Derek stepped forward, hand out for Stiles to grab. “Grab my hand and you should recognize the pull if you haven’t already.

Stiles looked at him, eyes slightly squinted, before grabbing Derek’s hand and felt his spark leap out of his skin, reaching deep inside the werewolf to embrace Derek, both man and wolf. Stiles lost his footing but Derek pulled him close, holding him steady against his chest.

“Now do you feel it?” Derek said.

“Yeah.” Stiles breathed out. It took a couple moments for him to steady himself but he didn’t leave Derek’s embrace. “So what do we do next?”

“I was hoping you can come meet my family, they’ll be thrilled to see I’ve found my mate. It will have to be after the ball ends, could I convince you to stay until then?”

“I think that can be arranged.” Stiles said, pulling Derek down to sit next to him on the bench. “Why don’t we sit here and get to know each other a little before you drag me in front of your family.”

“Deal.” Derek said. “But can I have a kiss first so we can seal the deal? I’d rather do that here under the stars, in the garden, with nobody around to see.”

“Fine with me, dude.” Stiles said.

“Don’t call me dude.” Derek said.

“I’ll call you dude if I want, sourwolf. Guess you’ll have to shut me-” Stiles said before Derek interrupted by kissing him, slightly too forceful and at an awkward angle that soon changed to something much more enjoyable.

Derek pulled away and said, “Good to know that works.” He kissed Stiles again, the garden hiding the pair from other eyes while they found ways to entertain themselves while waiting for the party to end.

TBC On AO3!